


Our Fearsome Goddess

by CatBountry



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-19 05:36:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 83,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22806097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatBountry/pseuds/CatBountry
Summary: A serial killer falls in love with a would-be victim. Two men find themselves prisoners of a deranged hybristophiliac. A detective, an FBI agent and an Interpol agent work to stop the murders. And a mysterious man with one arm seems to be far more than he appears. And at the center of it all, a young woman, a would-be victim, a lover of criminal men, becomes a force of brutal and sexual violence and carves a path of death and devastation. She is a tempest, she is fury. She is our fearsome goddess.Originally started in 2015, this work is still in progress but on hiatus.
Kudos: 9





	1. Sacrificial Lamb

The morning started as many mornings before it had; Eddie had turned on the news and Nicklaus tried in vain to pull the chain around his ankle from the guest room wall.

Nicklaus braced his bare feet on either side of the bolted steel plate, and took the chain in both hands. He took a few deep breaths through his mouth, leaned back, and pulled. Eddie hardly acknowledged him as Nicklaus grunted in exertion, and instead turned up the volume on the television. Nicklaus gave two more frustrated yanks on the chain before he fell back onto the carpet.

“Any progress?” Eddie asked, his deep voice deadpan.

“Not yet,” Nicklaus acknowledged, sitting back up. “But it could come loose yet.” He sat on the sofa beside Eddie, and sighed. He then looked to the television, and idly scratched his graying beard. The report on at that moment concerned a shooting in downtown Baltimore: a young man of 26 had been killed, and the suspect had been a co-worker of his. 

“How dreadful,” Nicklaus muttered. “The news here is so depressing.”

“Sure is,” Eddie said.

“That poor man,” said Nicklaus. “So young.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Eddie hummed. He hadn’t been paying much attention to that piece, were he to be perfectly honest. He’d originally made a habit of watching the news to see how the police search for him was proceeding, but after the first week or so, those reports dwindled down to nothing. Then he watched it for the police search on Nicklaus, which got more coverage due to the threat of it becoming an international incident and Nicklaus being a fairly well-known public figure in his home country. That, too, eventually died down. So now, Eddie tuned in to see if any of Brandon and Sybil’s victims had been discovered.

Nicklaus stretched his arms behind his head. He then leaned forward, stretching his legs out in front of him, and bent down at the waist, grabbing his ankles. He sat back up, rested his unchained foot upon his knee, and shook it anxiously. Eddie pretended not to notice.

Compared to Nicklaus, Eddie was the picture of lethargy. He was slumped against the couch, his eyes dark from yet another sleepless night. His skin, much of which was inked as a testament to his youth, had grown pale from lack of sunlight. The love handles he’d developed in the past ten years vanished shortly after his appetite did. His own chain around his ankle limited his movement enough that he no longer had the drive to exercise. He avoided the bathroom mirror as much as possible; he couldn’t say he recognized the man who looked back at him anymore.

Eddie felt a weight on his lap, and looked down to see Nicklaus’ head there, looking up at him. “You didn’t sleep very well last night, did you?” he asked.

“How observant of you, Nick,” Eddie drawled. 

Nicklaus cocked his head, his hair framing his head like a lion’s mane. “Nightmares again?”

“Ain’t it always?” Eddie said with a scoff.

“Would you like to talk about it, Eddie?”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer not to,” said Eddie.

Nicklaus frowned. “I only wish to help,” he said.

“If you wanna help, you could start by getting off.” Eddie jerked his knee enough to bounce Nicklaus’ head on his lap. 

Nicklaus grumbled as he sat up. “Alright, alright, I get the picture,” he said. His over-pronunciation of every single consonant in his speech in English stood out in sharp contrast to the south-western twang in Eddie’s. It was as though Nicklaus was trying his best to hide his accent and instead only made his foreignness more apparent. “I’ll leave you to your sulking, then.” As he stood up, he heard something bump above his head, and he looked to the ceiling.

Eddie heard it too. The two of them froze, listening to the sound of footfalls above them. The bumps moved over their heads, past the wall on the right side of the room, and halted, before taking more steps back around. Slowly, Nicklaus lowered himself so that he was kneeling on the floor. Eddie reached for the remote control beside him, and lowered the television volume.

There were two sets of footfalls now, with some muffled speech that was barely audible from below, followed by laughter. More talking, and then more footsteps. A door opened and shut. More footsteps, this time moving towards the basement stairs.

Nicklaus smirked. “Seems like our Goddess decided not to sleep in today.”

The basement stairs creaked, and Eddie turned the television off. He slid off of the couch and onto the floor. Already he could hear his heartbeat quicken and his stomach plummet. He glanced quickly at Nicklaus, and noticed his smirk was gone. Instead, Nicklaus had closed his eyes, inhaling through his nostrils and exhaling through his mouth.

Eddie had to admit he was a bit jealous of how well Nick was handling this whole situation.

The door opened, and in came their captor, back-end first as she held a breakfast tray. She was a small, twiggy, young thing, with blonde hair as unruly as straw and startlingly large eyes that were as blue as robin’s eggs. Between the three of them, she wore the most clothing: silk pajamas and slippers. 

“Good morning!” she chirped, kicking the door closed behind her with her foot.

“Good morning, mistress!” Nicklaus replied in kind. He wore a bright and toothy smile, his arms outstretched in a welcoming gesture. He was cranking up the charm to 11, and every time he did, Eddie found himself somewhere between admiring the man and being disgusted by his display of absolute subservience. “I take it you slept well?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” she said, lowering the tray onto the floor in front of her prisoners. “I had a dream that I was fucking Professor Crickett and I sawed off his head.” She said this plainly, as though she were discussing the weather. “I woke up coming. It was pretty nice.”

Eddie blanched, and unconsciously put a hand over his throat. Nicklaus forced his pleasant smile to remain on his face, and took another deep breath through his nose. “Is that right?” he asked, his voice faltering slightly.

“Yeah,” she said dreamily. “What do you think, Professor?”

“I think you’re a sick girl, Sybil,” Eddie answered plainly.

Nicklaus laughed nervously, and put a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “Now, now, Eddie,” he said, trying his best to maintain a playful tone, “you don’t want to upset our mistress, now do you?” He gripped onto Eddie’s shoulder like a vice, and though the smile on his face was wide, his eyes were filled with terror.

“I don’t mind,” said Sybil coyly. “At least he doesn’t bullshit me like you do, Nickie.”

Nicklaus’ mouth twitched, and his smile faded. He gave out an insincere chuckle, and loosened his grip on Eddie’s shoulder to clap on it as though Eddie had finished an amusing anecdote. “You always see right through me, my dear,” he said. “You know me too well. I’ve always been a people-pleaser.”

“That’s good,” said Sybil, “because you’re going to be doing plenty of pleasing later.”

“Of course,” said Nicklaus, no longer able to maintain that shit-eating grin. Instead, he bowed his head in resignation. “Though, if it’s all the same to you, mistress, I think the both of us would prefer to eat our breakfast first.”

Sybil looked at them both, her eyes cold and distant, any trace of mirth vanishing instantly.

“Please,” added Nicklaus feebly.

Instantly, her good mood returned, and he beamed. “Sure,” she said. “Besides, I’m going to be busy. But once I come back I expect you boys to be ready. You’ll do that for me, right?”

“Of course,” said Nicklaus. “Isn’t that right, Eddie?”

“Not like we got any choice in the matter,” Eddie replied, his delivery flat and emotionless.

Sybil tittered like a schoolgirl. The look in her eyes was not unlike that of a cat toying with its prey. “No,” she said. “No, you don’t.”

Eddie glowered at her, and didn’t respond further. Nicklaus saw an opening, and cleared his throat. “What exactly will you be doing while you are out, dear?” he asked. “And when we can we expect you to return?”

“None of your business and I don’t know yet,” Sybil answered. “I’m going to get ready and leave. I’m sure you boys can keep yourselves occupied, right?”

“Of course, of course,” said Nicklaus. “Don’t let us keep you.”

She smiled, and approached both of them. She bent down and pet them both on the tops of their heads, as though they were dogs. Eddie didn’t move or react, but Nicklaus tilted his head and allowed her to scratch under his hairy chin.

“You be good,” she said, and bent down to peck each of them on the lips. Nicklaus maintained his pleasant demeanor, and Eddie continued to be unresponsive. “Goodbye, boys,” she said, and turned away, and left out the door. Immediately after it closed, the two men could hear the sounds of the locks being fastened from the outside, and then her footsteps fade away as she walked up the stairs and shut the basement door.

As soon as that last door closed, Nicklaus immediately moved to remove the lid off of the tray before them: bacon, eggs and toast again, with orange juice and coffee. He picked up a plastic fork and knife off the tray and started eating. Eddie had not yet moved.

Nicklaus swallowed a mouthful of egg. “Eat,” he said. “You’re going to need the energy.”

Reluctantly, Eddie lifted the other plate off the tray, and pulled it into his lap. He took a piece of bacon between his forefinger and thumb, and took a bite out of it. He chewed slowly, and watched Nicklaus as he made quick work of his breakfast. “Don’t you ever feel sick doin’ that?”

Nicklaus took a sip from his glass of orange juice. “Doing what?”

“Kissing up to her like you do,” said Eddie. “After all she’s done.”

“Well,” said Nicklaus, setting down his glass, “the way I see it, placating her gets us another day left alive. And, seeing as how I intend to survive our imprisonment, I think it’s is the more pragmatic approach to ensuring our survival.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” said Eddie. “I understand your reasoning just fine. I was asking if it makes you feel sick doing it.”

“But I did,” Nicklaus replied. He took a bite of toast, and rotated his wrist as he chewed, as though to help the process along. “And my answer is, as I am working towards a goal, that I am able to swallow any ego I might have for the sake of making it out of here alive. So no, Eddie, I don’t feel sick when I ‘kiss up’ to her. All I can do is grin and bear it.” He swallowed, and flashed Eddie a sardonic grin to illustrate his point.

“You’re pretty confident that we’re gonna get through this at all,” Eddie observed.

“Better to be confident and hopeful than to give up and have no reason to continue living,” said Nicklaus. “I refuse to be beaten by her. I refuse to let evil triumph without putting up a struggle against it.”

“You’re playing patsy to that evil, though,” Eddie said.

“Merely a means to an end,” said Nicklaus. “That end being, we either escape, or we live long enough to be rescued. A good end. A  _ deserving _ end, for all the suffering we have been through to reach it.”

Eddie went quiet, and took a sip of his coffee. It was still quite hot, and he winced as it scorched his tongue and throat, but it woke him up. He resumed eating in silence.

“Besides,” Nicklaus said, breaking the momentary quiet, “I promised my sister that I would make it back home, safe and sound. That was a promise I intend to keep. My absence has no doubt disrupted our business quite enough already, and I can’t stand to inconvenience everyone if I can help it.”

Eddie wanted to say something mean, something to undercut Nick’s incessant chattering and his optimism, but thought against it. Instead, he finished his breakfast as quickly as he could, and stood up. “I’m gonna take a shower,” he announced.

“Alright,” said Nicklaus, and he returned to his orange juice.

The chains that tethered the two men were just long enough to be able to use the guest bathroom comfortably, but still came short of being able to reach the guest room’s door. Both Eddie and Nicklaus were aware that there was more to the basement than just their room, but neither had yet to see it. Eddie knew for sure there was a stereo system down there, as well as a big screen television; he’d heard both through the walls. There also might have been a mini bar, as he’d heard both Sybil and Brandon get drunk on many occasions. Not that any of that alcohol made it to him and Nick, of course. If Sybil needed either of them under the influence, she had more direct ways to inebriate them.

With the chain connected to his ankle, it was impossible to shut the bathroom door all the way. If he needed to take a shit, he’d have to hold the door closed. Nicklaus was polite enough, most times, to pull the door as shut as it could go and hold it. And while he appreciated the gesture, the lack of privacy would always gnaw at him.

Another bothersome thing about the chain was that it made wearing normal pants difficult. You could pull them down, but they’d still be on the chain, and dragging around a pair of pajama pants on a chain across the floor was irritating, to say the least. Ah, but Sybil was always one for ingenuity: she’d modified several pairs of pants with zippers along one leg. Underwear, on the other hand, was far more disposable to her. Eddie wondered if she bought them in bulk.

He pulled the zipper down the right side of his leg, and slipped the left leg out. The briefs would be on the chain for a while still. He pushed them down the length of the chain far enough away from the shower, and stepped into the tub, his chains clinking against the porcelain. He pulled the curtain shut, and twisted the hot water knob.

A hot stream of water blasted forth from the showerhead, and it hit Eddie’s nerves like a lightning strike. He jolted, and covered his face as he let the water run over him. Aside from those sleepless nights where Nicklaus would be snoring gently next to him, the shower would be the only time of the day he’d get any time alone to think. He turned around and let the stream hit his aching back, running down the body of the twisted, bug-eyed coyote tattooed on his back.

It had been five months since he wound up in this basement, under the most traumatic circumstances imaginable. The initial news reports he’d been allowed to watch had him pinned as a suspect for the murders of his wife and two of his daughters. It made sense, of course, for the police to suspect the missing husband of being the culprit. Husbands didn’t usually get kidnapped by psychotic murderers and chained up in basements. Seeing his friend Burton angrily declare in front of a TV camera that there was no way Eddie Crickett could do such a thing was bittersweet. That outburst probably cost him working on his case.

He picked up the bar of soap, and started to rub it against a washcloth. Once he’d gotten it up to a good lather, he scrubbed the skin on his chest, and then his legs. He always felt filthy down here. Even when he scrubbed himself until his skin went raw and red, he’d still feel unclean.  _ Dirty, _ even. He moved up to his arms. On his right bicep, he scoured over the web of pink, scarred flesh, and he could feel the pain all over again of having his flesh scraped off. The memory rushed back into his head, and suddenly the water felt too hot. He started to see sickly yellow rings swim around in the tub and over his feet. His knees started to turn to jelly, and he fell back onto his ass, and brought his knees up to his chest. He closed his eyes, and focused on breathing.

She’d done it to claim him, to remove any claim to him that was not hers. It wasn’t enough to murder Catalina right next to him, oh no, she had to take off her  _ portrait _ , the one he’d gotten when they were engaged, the one she’d thought was excessive and tasteless but she had loved it anyway because they were young and in love and it was 1990 and it was different then, not like now,  _ not like this… _

He sat there for a few minutes, just letting the water wash over him. Once his head-rush subsided, he stood back up. Quickly, he finished cleaning the rest of his body and washing the closely-cropped hair on his head. Once he’d rinsed the lather out, he turned the shower knob, and the water turned ice cold. He bowed his head, and he did not so much as flinch. After about a minute of this, he twisted the water off, until the shower head let out a few measly drips. Finally, he let out a full bodied shudder as the air hit him, and he stepped out. He dried himself off, got dressed again, and pushed open the bathroom door.

Nicklaus was sitting on the floor, his makeshift easel in his lap and pencil in his hand. He looked up towards Eddie. “Feeling more awake now, are we?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said Eddie. “Wish I wasn’t.”

“Perhaps you should finish your coffee,” said Nicklaus. “It’s still on the tray.”

“Thanks.” Eddie picked up the mug, holding it carefully in both hands as he sat on the couch. It was still quite warm, and he drank deeper. He set the mug between his legs, and looked over to Nicklaus. “Whatcha drawing?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, really,” said Nicklaus, now smiling bashfully. “Just doodles, really.”

“Yeah?” asked Eddie. “Of what?”

Nicklaus went completely stone-faced. “Pornography.”

“Really?”

“No, not really,” said Nicklaus, unable to hide his smirk, “unless, of course, you’d like me to draw you some.”

“I think our tastes are more than a bit  _ incongruous, _ Nick,” Eddie said. “Besides, I feel like I’m getting kinda sick of sex.” He hunched over, elbows resting on his knees, and stared into his coffee cup. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever actually enjoy it again.”

“What’s been done to us isn’t sex, as far as I’m concerned,” said Nicklaus. “Sex is supposed to be  _ enjoyable _ . It’s supposed to be  _ consensual _ . This isn’t sex, it’s--”

“Rape,” said Eddie, his voice dripping with disgust.

“I was going to say it’s  _ slavery _ ,” said Nicklaus.

“ _ Sex _ slavery,” said Eddie. “It’s rape anyway you slice it, Nick.”

Nicklaus became visibly uncomfortable, and he hunched his shoulders as though somebody were threatening to stab him with a hot poker. He cleared his throat. “I… I know that. I’m well aware--”

“You’re well aware but you don’t like to say it,” said Eddie. “You don’t like to say it because otherwise you’d have to admit you’re placating a  _ rapist _ .”

“And do you have a better suggestion as to what I’m supposed to do, then?” Nicklaus snapped. “You want me to kill myself, like you want to? You want me to try and kill her, only to wind up getting murdered by her psychotic boyfriend? He’s just waiting for an opportunity to kill us, Eddie, and I, for one, am  _ not _ planning on dying in this godforsaken basement.” He scowled at Eddie, and then averted his eyes. He set his easel and pencil down, and stood up.

“I’m going to clean myself up,” he announced. “I’ll leave you to your moping.” With that, he puffed out his chest like a proud rooster, and marched off to the bathroom, closing the door as hard as he could with the chain in the way.

Eddie took a few more sips of his coffee. If he were to be completely honest with himself, he quite liked Nicklaus, but he didn’t have very many outlets for his anger, and without being able to turn that anger inward, he lashed out at Nick because he was there and he was always willing to forgive Eddie. Perhaps it was because any prolonged animosity between the two of them would be useless. They did, after all, have a common enemy.

With his coffee in hand, he got up off the couch and looked over Nick’s easel. He crouched down, and picked up the sheet of copy paper Nick had been drawing on, and looked it over. No pornography, but there was an unfinished sketch of a toned young man taking off his shirt. Considering it had been done without a reference, it was quite good; Nick could have very well pursued a career in art. Nick was far too modest about his abilities, dismissing his work as amateurish, cartoony, or overly-stylized. It all looked very good to Eddie, but then again, he wasn’t an artist.

He set the drawing back down, and sat back down on the couch. He had drunk about four fifths of his coffee when he heard the showerhead come to a trickle. Eddie adjusted the cuff around his ankle, pulling it up so the cushioning wouldn’t cause a rash on his skin. The bathroom door pushed all the way open, and Nicklaus walked out, naked and rubbing his towel on his head.

“Eddie,” he started, sounding far too timid for a man who was standing in front of another man without a stitch on.

“Mmm?” Eddie took a sip from his coffee. It was lukewarm by this point.

“I wanted to apologize for responding as harshly as I did,” said Nicklaus, slinging the towel over his shoulders. “You’re right, of course. I know what she’s doing. And I feel disgusted by it. Disgusted by myself, even.”

Eddie felt a pang of guilt in his chest. He’d been feeling bitter and was looking to tear Nick down on purpose; misery loves company, after all. Nick took his bait and was now apologizing to him, like he always did. Eddie sighed and responded, “It’s not your fault, Nick.”

“I know you’ve gone through far worse than I have,” Nicklaus added hastily. “I know you don’t have the luxury of swallowing your pride enough to appease her. You’ve been hurt far worse than I ever have, and I don’t blame you in the least for hatred of her…”

“Nick--”

“I’m just scared, Eddie. I don’t want to die.” Nicklaus pulled the towel off of his shoulders and finally covered his lower half. “And I really don’t want you to die either.” 

“I doubt that she’d let me,” said Eddie.

“I’m serious, Eddie.” Nicklaus wrapped the towel around his waist, and sat down on the couch beside Eddie as he finished off his coffee. “I’ve become quite fond of you. I consider you a friend. You’re really the only friend I have here.”

Eddie swallowed. “Thanks, Nick,” he said. “I’m sorry I egged you on. I don’t mean to take all this out on you--” he found himself cut off as Nicklaus leaned forward and pulled him in for a hug, and held him there, as Eddie awkwardly tried to keep his crotch as far away from Nicklaus’ as he could. Nick’s hair was still wet, his skin was warm and smelled like soap, and Eddie felt the tension melt in his body and slumped against Nicklaus. Nick’s was the only touch that didn’t make him wince, didn’t make him bristle and feel dirty. Eddie closed his eyes and laid his head on Nicklaus’ chest, remembering a time where this exact situation would have made him so uncomfortable that he would push Nicklaus away. A part of him was envious of the hope inside of this chatty, friendly German man that refused to die. Every single time he’d lash out at Nick, Nick would be willing to forgive and apologize for any perceived slights. When he’d be in the worst of his depression, Nick would be there at his side, urging him to eat and telling him stories to try and make him laugh.

The man had the patience of saint and Eddie was caught between hating Nick for it and hating himself for falling so short.

“It’s alright, Eddie,” said Nicklaus, petting Eddie’s hair. “It’s alright.”

“No,” said Eddie. “No, Nick. It’s really not.”

This gave Nicklaus pause. He stopped petting Eddie’s hair, and rested his hand on the top of Eddie’s head. “Well,” he said, “so long as we’re in this together, it  _ will _ be alright.”

“If you say so,” sighed Eddie.

“I know so,” said Nicklaus. “We will make it out of here. Both of us, alive. I swear it.” He pushed away from Eddie, holding him by his shoulders, and gave him hopeful smile. “Alright?”

“Alright,” Eddie echoed.

“Excellent,” said Nicklaus, clapping a hand on Eddie’s bare shoulder. “Now, I should probably put some pants on. We’ll try and find something to keep us both occupied until our fearsome goddess returns.” He stood up and walked back over the length of his chain, picking up his pants and underwear. He hummed to himself as he did so, and got dressed. Once dressed, he sat on the floor, and picked up his easel again.

“Do you have any more stories about your band?” Nicklaus asked.

“Pretty sure I told you most of ‘em,” said Eddie. “You can only get so many stories out of a band that lasted all of two years.”

“More experience than I have playing music,” said Nicklaus. “I can play a few tunes on the piano. That’s about it.”

“You probably had more formal teaching than I ever had,” Eddie said with a chuckle.

“My mother played and she taught me a bit when I was a boy. It wasn’t really my passion, though.”

“That’s more than I got. I had to teach myself the drums when my father wasn’t home. I’d saved up enough money to buy a used set when I was 15. My dad did not care for it. He hated my records and he hated the music I played. He’d wanted me to play the guitar, play country music. He’d holler at me to turn off that punk rock crap.” Eddie sighed. “One night he came back drunk and kicked in my bass drum. Never seemed terribly sorry for it.”

“Oh dear. He did not even reimburse you?”

“Of course not,” said Eddie. “Why would he?”

Nicklaus shrugged. “Well, to me, a boy saving up his money to an instrument should be rewarded. He was a musician, he should have understood.”

Eddie shook his head. “Didn’t matter to him. I went against his wishes. That’s all that mattered.”

“I see.” Nick went quiet, and cleared his throat. He’d learned a while ago that pressing the matter would only result in pain. Looking extremely uncomfortable, he went back to his drawing. Eddie turned the television back on, and channel surfed.

He’d never been very much of a television watcher, but down here it was his only window to the outside world. With no windows for sunlight to come through, he’d become dependent on it to have any real sense of time passing. Talk shows, news, reality shows, sitcoms, procedural dramas, old westerns, cartoons… they all blended together in a Technicolor miasma of words and images. He stopped on Antiques Roadshow. A withered old man had brought in a binder full of baseball cards from the 40’s. Now that he was fully awake, the television became background noise as his mind wandered.

It was July, though neither he nor Nicklaus could really tell the difference between any other month they’d been down there. Eddie imagined the sticky heat and the sweat beading on his skin in the sunshine. He imagined the smell of mowed grass, the sound of children laughing, the taste of lemonade, and he ached for them. Outside, there were kids jumping through sprinklers, barbecues and block parties, ice cream trucks and fireflies. Out there were people living their lives, day to day, working and playing and laughing and making love. Out there was normalcy. Out there was his one surviving daughter.

He wondered how Emmy was holding up. The last time he saw her was the night of the murders; he had never been so grateful of her habit of sneaking out at night to hang out with friends. To imagine what she had come back home to was too much for him to fathom. It made him feel sick. He would rather direct his thoughts to something far more pleasant; fantasizing about killing Sybil.

He’d run over a hundred different scenarios in his head, contemplating how best he could go about it. He thought about strangling her with his chain, overpowering her and choking her, slamming her head on the rim of the tub, wrestling a weapon out of her hands when she brought it down and using it on her… these were all possibilities, but all these scenarios ended with he and Nicklaus still chained to the wall, and unable to reach for the door or the keys to their shackles, and Brandon coming down to see what they had done. Without Sybil, there’d be no reason to keep two men chained in his basement, and they would both be killed. 

The weight of the padlock dangling from his ankle cuff felt as though it had gotten heavier. If it had just been him, he probably wouldn’t care too much about dying, but that changed when Sybil dragged down a drugged and mumbling Nicklaus for the first time and had her way with him. He’d expected Sybil to kill the man afterwards, but instead she shoved him into the dog crate, handcuffed him to the bars and left him there for the night. Eddie could see the crate over the far arm of the couch, empty, a constant reminder of what would happen if either of them stepped out of line.

Nicklaus held his easel closer to his face as he squinted, pulling in his knees with the easel lying against them. Sybil had yet to replace his last pair of reading glasses. Eddie still found it strange that, even with Sybil being involved with the young and handsome Brandon, she still had a  _ thing _ for older men. Both he and Nick were old enough to be her father, and Nick had a decade on Eddie. Eddie often wondered if Sybil had some hang-up involving her father, but such an idea felt too simplistic and dismissive. Trying to navigate the psychological minefield that was Sybil’s mind was far too taxing on him. It was easier to just focus on not going crazy himself.

“Are you going to just stare at the ceiling all day and ignore the television?”

Eddie sat up, and looked at Nick. “Hmmm?”

“You look bored,” said Nick.

“It’s boring being down here.”

“Would you like to play a game, then?”

Eddie sighed. “Not particularly, no.”

“How about a story, then? Perhaps about myself and Ichiro on our travels?”

“Pretty sure I’ve heard most of ‘em.”

“I’m sure you haven’t.”

Eddie just grunted.

“How about some riveting conversation, then?”

“About what?”

Nicklaus shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know… you have any interesting dreams last night?”

“Didn’t you ask that already?”

“Did I?” Nick’s eyes turned upwards, and he tapped his lip in thought. “I’m sorry. Sometimes the days just blend together.” He looked apologetic. “Are you still not in the mood to talk about it?”

Eddie sighed. “I had the one with the wall again.”

“Did anything change?”

“Nah,” said Eddie, shaking his head. “Just running along that wall again, being chased by something.”

“Did you see what it was?”

“No. I just knew it was some kind of animal. That’s it.”

“I see,” said Nicklaus. He looked back down at his easel, tapping his pencil on the edge as he thought. “So, is there anything in particular you want to do then?”

“Don’t know,” said Eddie. “Don’t care.”

Nicklaus pursed his lips, and twirled his pencil between his fingers. “Would you like a massage? You seem tense.”

“Do I?”

“Well, your shoulders are all hunched up,” said Nicklaus. “How is your back?”

Eddie relaxed his shoulders. His back didn’t hurt, really, but now that he focused on it, it felt tight. “Could be better, I guess.”

“Lie down on the couch,” said Nicklaus. “On your stomach.”

Eddie turned over and laid down, crossing his arms under his chin. It had been a while since the last time Nick had insisted on this; he usually reserved this massage for when he felt Eddie was under stress. Eddie closed his eyes and took a deep breath as Nicklaus straddled him. Nick was careful not to put any weight on Eddie, his pelvis barely touching him.

“Comfortable?” Nick asked.

“As comfortable as I’m gonna be,” said Eddie. “Go ahead.”

Nicklaus placed his hands on Eddie’s inked back, and began to knead. Eddie felt the tension melt from his knotted muscles, and let out a satisfied sigh. He’d needed this. The pressure felt good, so very good, and Eddie felt a fleeting sense of bliss. He sunk into the couch, and let one of his arms slide down off the couch and go slack. 

This feeling was broken, however, when Nick’s hands left his back. Eddie lifted his head. “Why’d you stop?”

Nick shushed him, and Eddie turned back to see he was staring at the ceiling in anticipation. Upstairs, the front door opened, and something thumped against the floor.

“I thought she’d be gone longer,” Nick muttered as he dismounted Eddie. “It’s not even been three hours, I thought she’d be gone  _ longer _ …”

Above them, something was being dragged across the floor. Eddie stepped down from off of the couch and onto the floor, sitting beside Nicklaus. Nick’s hands were clasped together, and he held them in front of his mouth. His eyes were fraught with worry as they tracked the sound above them. The basement door could be heard opening, and Sybil let out a grunt of exertion. Something large thumped against each stair on her way down, until it stopped at the bottom with a meaty thud. Eddie clenched his jaw and took a deep breath, as he waited for whatever fresh horror they would be dealt with today.

The door unlocked and swung open. Sybil came into the room, back end first, as she dragged in a black garbage bag. She let go of it just short of Nicklaus and Eddie. She bent over to catch her breath, and resting her hands on her thighs. Once she was no longer winded, she stood upright, brushing her hair out of her face. She turned to look at Nicklaus and Eddie, who were looking up at her, no doubt awaiting some kind of explanation.

“I’ll be back,” she said. “Don’t get any ideas.” With that, she went back out, shutting and locking the door behind her.

It was Nicklaus who crawled towards the bag, approaching it like a nervous cat. As he reached towards the bag, something inside stirred, thrashing around violently and rolling towards him. Nicklaus yelped, and scooted back across the carpet in alarm.

Eddie, however, had remained unfazed. He reached for the bag, gripped the plastic with both hands and tore it apart. He peered into the hole he’d ripped, and his eyes met with the panicked eyes of another man. “Oh Lord,” he muttered.

“What?” asked Nicklaus, coming up from behind Eddie. “What is it? What--” He stopped short, and gaped in horror.

The man in the bag had duct tape over his mouth and his wrists were bound with rope. He was younger than either of them, somewhere in his early 30’s. His tanned face was sticky with sweat, and a streak of blood coming from his hairline had dried on his cheek. But more than that, even more noticeable was the black shirt he wore, and the white collar around his neck.

“Oh my God,” said Nicklaus. “He’s a  _ priest _ .”

“Nick--”

“What is she planning, Eddie?” Nick’s voice went high with panic. “I can’t do anything with a  _ priest _ , I was raised Catholic… oh God, why would she--”

“Just shut the hell up, would ya?” Eddie snapped.

Nick clamped his mouth shut, and wrung his hands as Eddie yanked off the tape over the priest’s mouth, out of which the first words were, “Are you going to hurt me?”

“No, we’re not,” said Eddie. “We’re stuck down here, same as you.”

The priest looked around the room, and looked between the two men before him. “Where am I?”

“I’m not quite sure exactly where we are, but I know we’re somewhere out in the middle of the woods. Screaming won’t do ya much good.” Eddie tilted his neck and leaned to the side, and examined the priest’s bonds. “You need help getting outta there?”

The priest nodded, and Eddie pulled him out of the shredded garbage bag and propped him upright. “Thank you,” said the priest.

“Don’t mention it,” said Eddie. He looked back to Nicklaus. “Hey Nick, you wanna chat him up while I see if I can maybe get him untied?”

Nicklaus jolted at the mention of his name, snapped out of his personal moral crisis. “A-alright,” he said. “Of course. How rude of me.”

Eddie slipped behind the priest and examined the ropes binding his wrists together, as Nick did what he did best: prattle on endlessly.

“Ah, hello there!” said Nicklaus. “I’m so terribly sorry you wound up down here, Father. I wish we could have met under more pleasant circumstances. How are you holding up?”

The priest still seemed dazed. “My wrists hurt.”

Eddie examined the rope around the priest’s wrists. He could not even begin to identify the nightmarish Gordian knot that had been tied around his wrists; without anything sharp to saw through the rope, it looked as though the knot wasn’t going anywhere. He at least owed it to the man to try.

“I imagine so,” said Nicklaus. “But, perhaps I can take your mind off of it, at least for the time being. I think we should start with introductions.” He placed his splayed fingertips over his collarbone and bowed slightly. “My name is Nicklaus Messmer, of the Messmer Confectionary Company. My companion, the lovely man currently working on those bothersome ropes of yours, is Professor Thomas Edison Crickett, though he prefers to be called Eddie.”

“Hello,” said Eddie, lifting his head in acknowledgement before he went back to trying to find the end of the rope.

“His time down here has made him rather irritable, but I assure you he’s a good man,” said Nicklaus. “And who might you be?”

The priest blinked. “James Richards,” he said flatly.

“Father Richards,” said Nicklaus, “it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Nick offered his hand to shake, but then retracted it quickly. “Oh, right! Of course. You’re a bit…  _ tied up _ at the moment, aren’t you?” He gave out a weak chuckle, and Father Richards merely stared at him.

Eddie snorted derisively. His fingertips were starting to feel tender as they tried to dig underneath the ropes. This rope was like the gym rope he’d been made to climb in middle school, all coarse with sharp fibers sticking out to sting his hands, making his palms burn if he happened to slide down. One of those fibers got under his nail, and poked at the tender skin underneath. He pulled back his hand, shaking it, and stuck the tip of his finger in his mouth.

“I don’t think I can untie him,” Eddie announced. “I don’t know what the hell kind of knot this is, but it’s a bitch and a half, I’ll say that--”

“Eddie!” Nicklaus cried out.

“What?”

“You don’t swear in front of a man of God!” said Nicklaus, motioning to Father Richards. “It’s not  _ proper _ .”

“Honestly, Nick, I think that my cussing is the least of his worries,” said Eddie. He stood up and stuck the tip of his injured finger back into his mouth, and looked up at the ceiling. He couldn’t hear any distinctive noises from upstairs. Just what the hell was she planning?

“It’s alright,” said Father Richards. “I don’t really mind.”

Nicklaus frowned. “Well, it’s still rude,” he said. “He should be showing you the proper respect, Father.”

Eddie sat down on the floor, his legs crossed into a pretzel and his neck still craned upward. He felt consumed by a feeling of dread, as he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. It was better that Nick was doing the talking. Eddie didn’t see much point in getting attached to the guy.

“Have I seen you two somewhere before?” Father Richards asked. “You look familiar.”

“Oh, it was probably on the news,” said Nicklaus. “Both of us got coverage as missing persons, though I might have received a bit more, being a foreigner here. Apparently my disappearance nearly caused an international incident.” He gave a nervous chuckle. “To have caused that much trouble, well, I found the whole thing to be a bit  _ embarrassing _ , to be frank.”

“I think I saw that,” said Father Richards. “So… you’ve been here the whole time?”

“That I have,” said Nicklaus. “Eddie’s been here longer than I have, though the circumstances that lead him here were far more  _ traumatic _ .”

“I’d prefer not to talk about it, if that’s all the same to you,” said Eddie.

“Of course, of course,” said Nicklaus. “Though, if you remember his story, then you should already know how that happened.”

Father Richards nodded solemnly, and gave Eddie a sympathetic look. “I’m so terribly sorry for your loss.”

Ah, thought Eddie. He  _ did _ know. Eddie just nodded back, and averted his gaze, murmuring something that sounded like “it’s fine.”

There was a thick silence between the three of them. Nicklaus drummed his fingers on his knee, uncomfortable by the lull in the conversation. It was Father Richards that finally spoke up.

“What’s going to happen to me?”

“Well, ah…” Nicklaus was clamming up. “That, I’m not so sure of…”

“Nothing good,” said Eddie. “You weren’t brought down here for a tea party.”

“Is she just going to keep me down here with you?” Father Richards asked. “As a prisoner?”

“Probably,” said Nicklaus. “Though, with you down here as well, it may get a bit  _ crowded _ ; I’m not sure what she’s thinking. Well, if I’m being completely honest, it’s very hard to tell what she’s thinking at  _ any _ given time, really. I can’t get into her head. The best I can do is try and keep her pacified.”

“Surely, someone will find us?” Father Richards was starting to sound desperate. “I mean, you have the police looking for you, surely they could find us at any time…”

“Buddy, it’s been five months since I wound up down here, and they ain’t found us yet,” said Eddie. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

Father Richards stared at Eddie for a moment, before he heaved a great sigh, and bowed his head. “Then I suppose I must leave my fate in the hands of God.”

“God’s not the one that’s gonna be controlling your fate,” said Eddie. “Sybil is.”

“Sybil?” asked Father Richards, a look of confusion forming over his face. “Who’s Sybil?”

“That would be the young lady that brought you down here with us,” said Nicklaus.

“Her name’s Sybil?” Father Richards blinked in confusion. “She told me her name was Laura.”

“I’m sure she did,” said Eddie. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the couch. “What name did she give you again, Nick?”

“Ashleigh,” Nicklaus answered. “She wore her hair differently, and wore glasses. She was made up as well. It’s funny; she looked so different with just the smallest changes…” He trailed off, and shook his head. “So, how did you meet her, if you don’t me asking?”

“Well,” said Father Richards, “I first met her at a swap meet. I was there to check on one of my parishioners. He’s a hoarder, and we’ve slowly been helping clear out his home with the help of his psychiatrist.” He cleared his throat. “So, I was there with his son, manning the table and making sure he didn’t start trying to add anything else to his collection. This young lady stops by, asking about a VCR we were selling, of all things. We ended up talking, and I found myself charmed by her.”

Nicklaus nodded sagely. “That sounds about right. Did she flirt with you as well?”

“She did,” said Father Richards. “And I was weak enough for it to work.”

“You slept with her?” Eddie asked.

Father Richards turned bright red and begun to sputter. “N-no! Of course not! I took a vow of celibacy!”

“There’s other priests out there that didn’t let that stop them.”

“Eddie!” Nicklaus scolded.

“What?” asked Eddie. “I’m just saying, is all.”

“You should be more respectful,” said Nicklaus. “He’s a man of God, after all.”

“I’m an atheist.”

“That doesn’t matter!” Nicklaus let out a frustrated growl, and he made a gesture as though he were choking an invisible neck, before he sighed and let his arms go slack. “That doesn’t matter. I’m no longer a practicing Catholic myself, but you should keep from making rude comments about a holy man.”

Eddie shrugged. “Alright. I’ll just keep quiet then.”

“Good,” said Nicklaus with a huff. He turned back to Father Richards, his hands clasped together and his posture stooped. “I’m so terribly sorry about that, Father, please forgive his rudeness. I assure you it won’t happen again.”

Father Richards was still red in the face, and he bowed his head. “No, I can see why he would think that,” he said. “I was tempted by her, as she was quite forward with me, and I’d told her how inappropriate she was acting. But, fool that I am, I suggested she stop by the church and attend some services. She did, but she kept trying to meet me  _ alone _ . The last time I talked with her, she showed up at the church that night, and she tried to…” He shifted his weight and sat up straight, holding his head high in an attempt to maintain some of his dignity. “She tried to  _ force herself _ upon me.”

Eddie wanted to interject, but stayed quiet, hands clasped and his index fingers over his lips. Nicklaus picked up his slack, however, and turned solemn. “You said ‘tried.’ I assume she was unsuccessful?”

“She was,” said Father Richards, his voice trembling. “I was… I was just  _ shocked _ . I knew she was attracted to me, but I never would have guessed that she’d  _ assault _ me.”

“I imagine you wouldn’t have,” said Nicklaus. “Did you call the authorities?”

“No,” said Father Richards, “I know I should have, but I pushed her off of me and told her that if she came to the church again, I would call the police. I made myself quite clear.”

“Should’ve called the cops,” Eddie muttered.

“Eddie, please,” said Nicklaus. “He couldn’t have possibly known this would happen.”

“You can’t ever tell her ‘no,’” said Eddie. “I told her ‘no’ when she tried to talk me into cheating on my wife with her. Nick told her ‘no’ because he’s gay. You told her ‘no’ and now you’re here with us.”

Nicklaus looked uncomfortable, squirming at the casual reveal of his sexuality. Eddie pretended he didn’t notice, and waited for a reaction from Father Richards.

Father Richards cast a quick glance towards Nicklaus, and then looked back to Eddie. “I guess that makes sense,” he said. “But why me, though? Did she know you were gay when she came onto you, Nicklaus?”

“No,” said Nicklaus, looking relieved, “I only told her after she propositioned me. I went out to go drinking with her and her boyfriend, and she… what was the phrase you used again, Eddie?”

“She slipped you a mickey.”

“Yes, that’s it,” said Nicklaus. “She slipped me a mickey and brought me down here.” He tilted his head to the side, and leaned forward. “Forgive me for prying, Father, but how did she capture you?”

“And in broad daylight, even?” Eddie added.

“I’m pretty sure she knocked me out,” said Father Richards. He wet his dry lips. “And, well, it was starting to rain. The clouds rolled in and it got pretty dark, so it wasn’t  _ really _ broad daylight. I woke up in her car, tied up like this, and my head sticking out of the bag.”

“Probably did that so you wouldn’t suffocate,” said Eddie.

“Lucky for him that she thought of that then.” Nicklaus tried to laugh, but it came out sounding uneasy.

“Not sure if ‘lucky’ would be the word I’d use,” said Eddie. “He’s here, after all.”

“But he is alive,” said Nicklaus. “So long as he’s alive, there’s hope.” He turned to Father Richards. “Am I right?”

Father Richards tried his best to smile, the corner of his mouth tugging upward as though it were attached to a string. It did not last, and he bowed his head, as though it were pulled down by the gravity of his current situation. “I have no choice but to put my fate in God’s hands.”

Nicklaus’ face fell, and he fell silent. His eyes darted back and forth, as he tried to think of something, anything, to lighten the mood. He was about to speak before Father Richards spoke up again.

“I feel like I’m being punished for something,” he said. “I don’t know what it is, but it must be something… I’ve atoned for my sins, I thought they were  _ forgiven _ .”

“I’m sure whatever sins you may have committed aren’t grave enough for you to deserve this kind of treatment,” said Nicklaus. “No one deserves this. You’re not being punished. You can make it through this.”

“That’s very kind of you to say,” said Father Richards.

“I’m not saying it to be kind,” said Nicklaus. “I’m saying it because I genuinely believe it.”

There was a faint thump above their heads. Eddie and Nicklaus both tilted their heads towards the ceiling, and listened. Father Richards looked back and forth between them. “What is she--?”

“Shhh!” Eddie pointed his index finger up in front of his mouth, and lowered his hand. He and Nicklaus both looked like frightened deer, waiting, listening.

There were no further noises from upstairs. Nicklaus stroked his beard, smoothing down his mustache. “I wonder what she’s planning,” he wondered aloud.

Nobody said anything for a while. Father Richards squirmed in his bonds, trying to wriggle out of them before giving up. Defeated, he looked to Nicklaus and Eddie. “So, what do we do now?” he asked.

“Not much we can do except wait,” said Eddie.

“What if I crawled towards the door?” Father Richards asked. “Maybe I can reach the knob--”

“Door’s locked from the outside. It’s not gonna do you much good.”

“We have to do something!” Father Richards cried. “We can’t… we can’t just sit here, waiting for her to do God-only-knows to us!”

“We’ve tried,” said Nicklaus. “It’s never turned out well. It’s easier to try and not give her a reason to hurt you.”

Father Richards’ face turned ashen, his mouth slack in horror. He shook his head. “I can’t… I can’t do this. Maybe you two can, but I can’t, I just  _ can’t _ …”

“No, no, don’t panic!” Nicklaus put his hands on Father Richards’ shoulder, in the most gentle, consoling voice he could manage. “Please, Father, you have to be  _ strong _ .”

“I’m frightened,” Father Richards admitted. “I feel I should be brave but I’m  _ frightened _ . You said… you said you couldn’t do anything with a priest. What did you mean by that?”

Nicklaus looked as though he’d gotten seasick. He still kept his grip on Father Richards’ shoulders, but he pursed his lips tight.

“Nicklaus,” Father Richards said, his voice wavering, “ _ what did you mean by that? _ ”

The sound of footfalls rang out above their heads. They moved from the stairs, down the hall, and into the kitchen, and all three men followed the sound with their heads.

“Father,” said Eddie, “it looks like you’re about to find out.”

The basement door opened, and shut. The footfalls on the basement stairs were noticeably heavy as the clomped down one step at a time. Father Richards’s Adam’s apple started to bob and his eyes were wide with abject terror. Almost instinctively, Nicklaus cowered, hiding behind Father Richards while still keeping a grip on the other man’s shoulders. Eddie braced himself, sucking in a long breath.

The footsteps stopped in front of the door. There were faint shuffling sounds coming from the other side. Father Richard’s breath started to quicken as the locks on the other side of the door were being opened. The door cracked open just enough for a gloved hand to slide through and reach for the dimmer switch and turn it down. Eddie snorted. She always did like having a certain atmosphere for these sessions.

When the door finally opened, the light in the hall shone in and fell upon them. Father Richards shrieked, as the silhouetted figure standing in the doorway stooped to fit its horns under the frame. It had the head of a goat and its legs bent strangely; it appeared to be a satyr, complete with cloven hooves that sank into the carpet and glowing red eyes. Its torso was naked, and in one hand it carried a black leather medicine bag.

“B-b-bah,” Father Richards sputtered, his voice cracking in terror, “Bah- _ Baphomet _ …” 

“No,” said Nicklaus, “our Goddess.”

As Father Richard’s eyes adjusted, he saw the creature for what it was; it was a woman in a goat mask. Not just any woman, but it was her,  _ Sybil _ . She was wearing black boots that ended in hooves, making her look like an ungulate. Her skin looked soft and smooth and white as milk, and as she bent over to place the medicine bag on the floor, her small breasts hung downwards, barely poking off of her chest. She pulled one leg back to kick the door behind her closed, and then crouched down to open the bag. As she squatted, her thighs were spread wide, and the good Father averted his eyes in shame. He noticed Eddie sitting beside him, looking at her with an expression of resignation. He turned to meet Father Richards’ gaze, and he frowned.

“Mask is new,” Eddie observed, keeping his voice low. “Guess it’s a special occasion.”

Sybil pulled out a bottle of pills and a water bottle. She shook the pill bottle, and without saying a word, Nicklaus and Eddie crawled forward on all fours. She twisted the cap off the bottle, and shook out two into her hand.

“M-Mistress?”

Sybil’s head jerked to look at Nicklaus, who now looked to be regretting his decision to speak up. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but… I don’t think I can do… whatever it is you want me to do to this poor man. He’s a priest. I… I can’t do this. Please…”

The eyes of the mask merely stared back at Nicklaus, expressionless. Sybil did not move, freezing in place with the pills in her palm and the bottle in her hand. Eddie turned to Nicklaus, and shook his head, his mouth clamped shut.

“I was raised Catholic,” Nicklaus continued, “please, Mistress, I beg of you to reconsider,  _ for the love of God _ \--”

Nicklaus was cut off as Sybil’s hand shot forward and grabbed him by the throat, putting pressure on his trachea. He gasped and gagged, grabbing her wrist to try and wrench it off of him. “Please,” he begged as she throttled him. “Don’t--”

With her free hand, she used her forefinger and her thumb to pluck one pill from her palm, and jabbed her fingers into Nicklaus’ open mouth. She shoved the pill deep down his throat, and removed her hand to push his chin up and clamp his jaw shut. Nicklaus, left with no other alternative, swallowed it dry.

She let go of him, and Nicklaus hunched over, his palms against the floor as he coughed and sputtered. Sybil turned to face Eddie, holding the remaining pill as she made the “OK” sign with her hand. Eddie’s entire body shuddered as he heaved a sigh, his head hanging downward and his open palm lifted towards her. Instead, she grabbed him by his chin, popped his mouth open and crammed the little blue pill inside. As Eddie swallowed, he noticed Nicklaus drinking deep from the water bottle. Sybil snatched the bottle from Nicklaus’ hand, and pressed it to Eddie’s lips as she pulled his head back. Eddie swallowed a few gulps before he started choking, and as he coughed, the water dribbled out of his mouth and down his chin. Sybil watched him for a moment, tilting her head. She then capped the bottle, and placed it back in her bag.

Father Richards watched all this in silence, his entire body rigid and motionless, as though he were hoping she wouldn’t see him if he stayed still. When she turned her head and looked at him, he let out a startled gasp, and tried to scoot away. Sybil placed one hand on the ground in front of her and pushed herself up, grabbing the bag before standing to full height. She stalked over him as he wriggled away from her, and she brought down her boot onto his chest, catching him under his ribs. His eyes bugged out and he gasped, trying to suck in air like a landlocked fish, and she crouched over him, watching him.

“Why,” Father Richards wheezed, “why are you doing this?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she leaned over him, and started to remove his belt. Father Richards started to hyperventilate, averting his eyes as she pulled it off. She twisted to the side and rummaged through her bag, and pulled out a pair of scissors. She held them high, so she could make sure not only the priest saw them but Eddie and Nicklaus as well.

In his mind, Eddie was running through multiple scenarios of how he might grab those scissors and stab her in the throat… but he knew Nicklaus would never forgive him for getting the both of them killed. It never stopped him from entertaining the thought of spilling her blood on the carpet in retribution, but it made it sting more.

Sybil rested her right hand, which was holding the scissors, on the priest’s thigh, and unbuttoned his fly. As she pulled down the zipper, the good Father started to recite the “Our Father,” in a breathy, delirious voice. She paused, and grabbed a handful of his crotch, which caused him to cry out in the middle of the verse he was on (“thy wi- _ ILL _ be done!”), and she pressed her palm flat against him.

Nicklaus leaned closer to Eddie. “What’s she doing?” he asked out the side of his mouth, as hushed as he could manage.

“Pretty obvious what she’s doing,” Eddie whispered back. “I think he’s got an erection.”

“Really?” Nicklaus’ voice got loud enough to cause Sybil to turn around and stare them down. The both of them shrank back, and she returned to the task at hand.

Carefully, she maneuvered herself to a better angle so that she was facing his feet and her ass was in his face. She slipped the bottom blade of her scissors underneath the waist of his pants, and cut through the cloth. The material closest to the waist was the hardest to cut through, snipping carefully before sliding the blades down his leg. She stopped short of the binds around his ankles, and cut across the cuff to bring the blade back up along his inner thigh, snipping the scissors just shy of his crotch. She did the same to his other leg, and peeled off the fabric, leaving his lower half clad in just his underwear.

Sybil was taking her time, of course, toying with the poor man. Eddie had been on the receiving end of such treatment; enough times that he was starting to feel impatient on the priest’s behalf. He watched silently as she crawled on top of the priest, and ran her hands up his chest, lifting his shirt. Really, there wasn’t much else for him to do except watch and wait for her to signal he and Nick over. She began to grind against Father Richard’s pelvis, her hips undulating against his as he prayed, and Eddie started to feel the effects of the pill take hold as his cock started to stiffen. He hung his head, and screwed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the pulsing in his groin. It wouldn’t do him much good.

Father Richards had started a “Hail Mary,” and Sybil crawled over him and sat on his chest. She thrust her crotch towards his face, and leaned back, exposing herself with her legs spread wide. She lifted his head, and cut off his prayer by burying his face into her muff. The good Father squirmed uselessly, tried to pull away, but she grabbed a handful of his hair and held his head firm.

As the fight drained out of the priest, Eddie thought of the Seligman and Maier experiments, with those dogs being electrocuted that gave up trying to resist, instead simply lying down and whimpering. He and Nick both had become intimately familiar with learned helplessness; it was why they were sitting there, waiting patiently on Sybil instead of prying her off Father Richards, and why the Father was cautiously licking at her cunt. Eddie balled his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms until it stung.

Sybil twisted around, and pointed to Nicklaus. Without hesitation, Nicklaus crawled forward, and looked up at her expectantly. She pointed to Father Richards’ crotch. 

Nicklaus nervously looked from her to where she was pointing, wringing his hands. He shook his head, shrinking back as he did so. Sybil jabbed her finger more forcefully downwards. Though Nicklaus could not see her face, he still flinched under her gaze. He cast a helpless glance to Eddie before he moved to straddle Father Richards’ legs. With trembling hands, he hooked his fingers underneath the hem of the priest’s underwear, and pulled them down, releasing his throbbing, turgid cock. He took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry, Father,” he said, “forgive me.” And he bowed his head, taking the father’s cock into his mouth.

The priest squirmed a bit more before he gave up and fell still. Eddie hoped that Sybil would forget he was even there, that he could just hang back and not have to participate, but about two minutes of Sybil humping Father Richards’ face and Nicklaus sucking him off, Sybil grabbed a handful of Nicklaus’ hair and pulled his head up, letting the father’s cock slide out of the other man’s mouth with a wet pop.

“Get off,” Sybil said, finally speaking. Her voice was low and husky, though it was hard to tell if that was simply due to the distortion of the mask. “Go fuck his mouth.” She pushed Nicklaus’ head backwards as she let go of his hair. She stood up, walked over to the couch, and sat down, her legs spread wide as she slumped back. She looked to Eddie, and pointed at him. “Fuck his ass.”

Eddie looked back at Sybil with narrowed eyes. “With what?”

“Check the bag,” she said. She was still holding onto the scissors, and she stuffed them between the couch cushions.

Eddie clenched his jaw, and stretched towards the bag, dragging it beside him. He rummaged through it and pulled out a half-empty bottle of personal lubricant. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose and out of his mouth. He looked back to Nicklaus, who was now shimmying out of his underwear.

“I’m so terribly sorry for this,” Nicklaus said to Father Richards, “I have no choice.”

“Just get it over with,” said Father Richards, trying and failing to sound brave.

Eddie averted his gaze as Nicklaus took his hardened cock in his hand and guided it towards the priest’s mouth. There really was no reason for him to watch. Instead, he grabbed a hold of Father Richard’s bound ankles, and lifted them into the air. His legs being bound would make things more difficult. He looked towards Sybil, only to see that she had begun to masturbate; he’d get no help from her. Not wanting to drag things out any longer than he needed to, he popped open the cap on the bottle, and poured a generous amount into his hand. He put the bottle aside, pulled down the front on his pants with his underwear, and jerked his flushed cock with his lubricated hand. He’d already been uncomfortably hard this whole time, and he was eager to remedy this, even at the expense of this poor bastard who’d been brought down here. With his member properly slicked up, he lined up the head with the anus of the Good Father, and slowly pressed himself inside.

Father Richards let out a startled cry, though it was muffled by Nicklaus’ erection in his mouth. Eddie, closed his eyes, hugged the priests’ legs, and carefully slid inside, trying to take his mind off of what was happening in the present. At least when he’d do this with Nick, Nick wouldn’t mind so much; in fact Nick had come to enjoy it, since it meant he wasn’t getting fucked by Sybil and instead by somebody who he actually liked. Besides, it wasn’t as if he was a stranger to getting fucked in the ass. Nick getting something out of it made it not quite as bad, but now, with his cock in a man who was now crying and groaning in pain, it made him feel a bit sick; the man’s ass was almost uncomfortably tight. Eddie cracked one eye open. Nick was trying in vain to comfort the poor man, shushing him and petting his hair and telling him he’d be alright. Eddie wished he wouldn’t. Poor sap was probably making things worse.

Eddie rolled his hips back, and drove himself back in, eliciting another anguished cry from Father Richards. Eddie screwed his eyes back shut as he pulled back again and plowed forward, and he could not get it out of his head the exact nature of what it was he was doing. He was a participant in the rape of a goddamned  _ priest _ ; an unwilling participant only doing so under the threat of bodily harm or worse, but a participant nonetheless. He thrust his hips again, and again, and he could hear Sybil masturbating harder. Eddie felt his hatred for her boil inside of his stomach, only slightly burning harder than his hatred for himself. He even hated Nick for trying to distance himself from what he was doing by uttering useless apologies and consolations, as they amounted to fuck all. He was thrusting wildly now, driven not by lust but by rage, as he thought about strangling Sybil and gouging her eyes out for her shooting Catalina in their bed right beside him. After he would finish with Sybil, he’d bash Brandon’s head in with a tire iron for murdering his baby girls until his skull was turned to paste, bringing down the iron again and again and  _ again _ . At this point, Eddie was grunting and growling like an animal as spittle flew from his lips, his fingers pressing so hard against Father Richards’ skin that it would leave bruises. He could hear Sybil gasp in ecstasy under her mask, and this caused him to pound harder, each thrust going to the hilt, his balls slapping against the father’s buttocks and the whole room filling with the smell of sex. He wanted to bite down on something, to rip something apart and completely destroy it. He gritted his teeth and felt his pulse in his temples. He hadn’t noticed Nicklaus regarding him with concern, even though the older man still had his cock in the mouth of a priest. Sybil kicked at Nicklaus’ back from the couch, causing him to cry out and resume his assigned task.

The pressure in Eddie’s gut was becoming too much for him to stand anymore, and he adjusted himself, lifting the father’s ass into the air and bending his legs towards his chest as Eddie drove in like a jackhammer. He was in a berserker-like frenzy, and after about a half a minute of hammering into the man’s ass he bellowed like a bull as he emptied his balls, squeezing the father’s legs against his own chest as he did so. Sybil let out a high-pitched whine as her pelvis thrust upward into the air, her vagina clenching and unclenching as she rode out her own orgasm. Eddie gave a few more weak thrusts into Father Richards before he finally pulled out. He fell back onto his rear, and caught his breath as his heart pounded in his chest. He looked to Father Richards, who still had Nicklaus’ cock in his mouth and now had semen trickling out of his pink, swollen asshole. He thought he saw a trace of blood seeping out.

Nicklaus was always longer to cum than Eddie; this was useful if he wanted to take his time with a partner, but down here it was more of a nuisance. Nicklaus reached behind his back and between his legs, putting pressure on his perineum with his fingertips. He shuddered, letting out a high-pitched, breathy moan as he closed his eyes. He muttered to himself in German as he slid in and out of Father Richards’ mouth. Eddie couldn’t make it out; Nick had only taught him a few basic German phrases, and the words he could make out weren’t ones he recognized. Nick sounded desperate, his voice sounding more frantic as he bucked into Father Richards’ mouth, the priest gagging and retching around his cock.

Sybil was still masturbating, her heavy breathing audible through the mask. “Cum in his mouth,” she said, her voice husky with lust.

Nicklaus’ face screwed up with exertion, holding his breath as he pushed his fingers over that sensitive spot. Finally, he pulled out his cock just at it began to twitch, and spurted a string of semen over the priest’s mouth, letting out a noise like he was trying to hold in a sneeze. Nicklaus opened his eyes, and looked down at Father Richards.

The man had done nothing to resist the entire time, lying still and passive. He looked back up at Nicklaus with pitiful brown eyes, semen running down over slightly parted lips and his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. He was trembling now, like a small dog, and opened his mouth as if to say something, but ended up coughing and retching instead. Nicklaus fell back onto his ass, and covered his mouth with his hands. His eyes were wide and haunted, as the magnitude of what he had done started to sink in.

With one last cry, Sybil came again, and collapsed back onto the couch, catching her breath. She sat up, and beckoned to Eddie and Nicklaus to her. They both crawled towards her, and she hooked a leg over each of their shoulders, pulling them closer to her groin. Sybil held out her right hand to Nicklaus, who obediently took her index and middle fingers into his mouth, sucking off the fluid, as she stroked Eddie’s hair.

“You’re  _ evil _ .”

All three of them looked to Father Richards, who had rolled over on his side, bringing his knees up to his chest and lifting his head. A glob of semen ran down his mouth sideways, and he spat. “You’re a  _ monster _ . And you two,” he looked from Eddie to Nicklaus and back to Eddie, “you two  _ helped _ .”

Nicklaus blanched, and spat Sybil’s fingers out of his mouth. “We had no--” he started, but he was cut off when Sybil put her hand on his shoulder, and pulled him back.

“We had to,” Eddie snapped, the words getting out before Sybil could silence him. She smacked him in the back of his head, and he flinched.

Father Richards didn’t respond; he just looked hurt. The anger drained out of him, and he let his head fall back onto the floor. His body curled in tighter, and he rubbed his face against the carpet. His breath hitched, and he let out a few pitiful, choked sobs.

Sybil stayed on the couch, stroking Nick and Eddie’s heads as though they were a pair of faithful hounds. Neither man moved until she snapped her fingers, and pointed to the far side of the room. Both men scurried away, and sat with their backs against the wall. Nicklaus gathered a length of his chain in his hands and fiddled with it, his eyes quickly darting from looking at Father Richards, then back to the floor. Father Richards moved his head to look up at the two of them. Nicklaus averted his gaze. Eddie locked eyes with the man, his expression grim as an undertaker. The sweat on the father’s brow cut through the dried bloodstain on his forehead, and glistened on his reddened skin, and his lips quivered as he tried to purse his lips. Eddie wondered if he was restraining himself from screaming curses at him. Quite frankly, he couldn’t blame the guy if he did.

Sybil reached between the couch cushions, and took out her scissors. She pushed herself to her feet and balanced on the hooves of her boots, and stood over the broken man on the floor, framing his body with her legs. She was a beast, looking her wounded prey over as she squatted over him. With one hand, she rolled the priest back onto his back, so she might better look at his face.

“Succubus,” he muttered. “She-devil.”

Sybil chuckled. She pushed his legs down so that they were lying flat on the floor, exposing his flagging erection, and she ran her fingertip on the underside of it. He shivered. She took the head of his penis between her fingertips, holding it delicately, as though it were a glass ornament. As she pulled back his foreskin, his thighs twitched and he wriggled uselessly.

“H-haven’t you done enough?” he asked. “Aren’t you satisfied yet?”

The eyes of the mask met his, and the Good Father was able to better look at it. It was meticulously detailed, with coarse black fur and a leathery nose, and those  _ eyes. _ Those bright, shining red eyes, those eyes that seemed to look at him and the two men with their backs against the wall on the other side of the room… they looked almost alive in the dim light of the room. She slowly began to jerk him off, running her thumb over his head when she reached the top. He groaned and lolled his head back.

“You won’t… get away with this,” he panted, struggling to suppress his arousal. “You can’t escape judgment… you harlot…  _ you whore _ .”

She froze. Eddie and Nicklaus both braced themselves and pressed back against the wall. Father Richards twisted his head in the direction of the rattling chains, and saw Nicklaus frantically shaking his head, mouthing the word “no” and making a slicing motion with his fingers across his throat. Eddie betrayed his panic, his eyes darting from the father and Sybil.

Slowly, Father Richards looked back up at Sybil, who still had his penis in her grasp. Her fingers clenched, and she began to squeeze. It took a few moments for the father to cry out, as she pressed her thumb underneath the head, pushing it back at a precarious angle, as though she were pressing a button on a joystick.

“Oh God, please don’t break it,” Father Richards whined. “Please, oh please, don’t break it, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Sybil eased her grip slightly, and pulled back her thumb. She crawled over him, her thin limbs like spider’s legs, and leveled the muzzle of her mask so that it was mere inches away from Father Richards’ face. He turned away from her, and mumbled fevered prayers to God. She sat up straight on top of him, and held up the scissors in front of her face. The blades opened, forming a hungry, metal mouth. Sybil grabbed a hold of Father Richards’ chin, pushing his head back into the carpet and squishing his cheeks together. The Good Father thrashed about under her weight, but she sat down on his chest, pinning him. She held the scissors in her hand, the blades open as wide as they would go, pressed the tip of the lowermost blade in the center of Father Richard’s forehead. Sybil paused for a moment, watching as Father Richards’ brown eyes went wide with panic. Then she dragged the blade’s edge down. Father Richards shrieked, and tried his best to shake her off. He squeezed his eyes shut as blood welled up and ran down into them, but Sybil used her thumb and fore-finger to stretch the skin taut. She pressed the blade tip down as the priest kicked his legs, and made another cut from side-to-side.

Nicklaus gasped and covered his mouth, and Eddie felt uneasy. Usually that kind of physical abuse wouldn’t manifest until later. At least, that was how things went with him and Nick. But then again, this entire scenario was novel, from the boots to the mask to the third man brought in. He looked to Nick, and Nick looked back at him, the color in his face drained to a papery white. And it managed to get whiter still, when the basement door opened and the room’s lights brightened.

“What the fuck’s going on?”

Sybil let go of the Good Father’s face, and turned around to see a young man standing in the door. The man walked in, a look of disgust and confusion on his face. He combed his fingers upwards through his side-swept bangs, as he examined the scene. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Father Richards weakly lifted his head, blinking back the blood out of his eyes. “Oh, thank God,” he said. “Please, call the police! Please, help--” Sybil turned and slapped the Good Father across the face, silencing him.

“Jesus Christ, Brandon,” she said, hunching over and pulling off her goat mask with her un-bloodied hand, “I’m just trying to have a little  _ fun _ , don’t be such a  _ bitch. _ ” Her head out of the mask, she shook her head, sending her sweat-drenched blonde hair swishing back and forth over her face.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your little Satanic ritual, Eyes-Wide-Shut fun-time,” said Brandon sarcastically, “but here I am, I’m out working my ass off, and you bring home  _ another _ fucking one, like you’re some kind of fucking crazy cat lady!”

“Ugh!” Sybil groaned. “Why is it that I can’t do  _ any _ of this by myself for once? I always do it with  _ you _ , so why can’t I nab somebody on my own?”

“Because you’ll want to do the thing where you get  _ attached _ and start keeping them as  _ pets _ ,” Brandon explained. “What the fuck did you do to this guy, anyway? Fuck, is he a  _ priest? _ ”

“Yeah,” said Sybil. “I had Nickie and Eddie fuck him and I was gonna before you showed up.” She splayed her hands onto the floor behind her, and leaned back, watching Father Richards try to shake off the blood streaming down his face in vain.

Brandon scoffed. “Well, good thing I wasn’t around for that, then, huh?”

“You wouldn’t have appreciated it,” she said, scooting back over Father Richards’ chest and onto his abdomen. “It was pretty hot, though.”

“Watching two dudes fuck another dude doesn’t exactly do it for me, thanks.” Brandon cast a glance to Eddie and Nicklaus, who were hunched against the wall like two gargoyles. “You cocksuckers enjoy yourselves?”

“Not particularly,” Nicklaus said in a small, pitiful voice.

Brandon chuckled. With that smile on his face, it was easy to forget, just for a moment, how dangerous he could be; with his chestnut hair, his moody green eyes, angular jaw and toned physique, he looked as though he’d walked off the pages of an issue of  _ Tiger Beat _ . But it was his smile that was most bewitching; his teeth were shiny and perfect and white as eggshells, and when he smiled, women would swoon and men would feel burdened by weight of their own inadequacy. But with a tilt of his head, suddenly that million-watt smile turned into an unsettling grin, a crocodile grin. His head lolled back towards Sybil. “So, are you going to let me watch what you’re doing, or no?”

Sybil let out a sigh of exasperation. “You ruined the mood.”

“Your mood was fucking weird,” said Brandon. “Where’d you get that mask, anyway?”

Sybil picked up her mask off the floor, and ran a thumb over its black fur. “I bought it.”

“From where?”

“Etsy.”

“What the fuck is Etsy?”

“It’s like a craft site,” said Sybil casually. “Some lady was selling it and I thought it looked really cool. So… I bought it.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Brandon hollered. “Did you have this shit delivered to  _ my fucking house? _ ”

“Relax, I had it delivered to a P.O. Box,” said Sybil. “It’s not under your name.”

“But you used my credit card,” said Brandon. “You’ve bought enough weird shit online that I’ve had to explain away. The people at Visa are convinced I’m some kind of BDSM freak.”

“So, wait,” said Sybil, swinging her leg around so that she was now no longer straddling Father Richards, “ _ BDSM _ is freaky? Compared to what  _ we _ do?”

“It’s  _ expensive, _ ” Brandon said, “and all of your fucking toys are leaving a paper trail back to me, because apparently you can’t get it through your fucking head that you’re supposed to be buying shit with  _ cash. _ ”

“If I could buy it with cash, I  _ would _ have,” Sybil snapped. “Just tell them you’re a furry or whatever. Besides, I hadn’t bought anything on your card in like, two months. We’ll be fine.”

“Fine?” asked Brandon. His held his arms akimbo, and shook his head, laughing bitterly. “Are we? Are we really? Because to me, it seems like you’re this close” (he pinched at the air, leaving less than an inch between his thumb and forefinger) “ _ this _ close, to completely  _ fucking us over. _ ”

Father Richards twisted his neck to look at Eddie and Nick. The father’s face was tacky with blood, and the cut was visible enough that Eddie could see what Sybil had carved in his forehead.

It was an inverted cross.

“We’re not gonna get caught,” said Sybil. “and besides… doesn’t the thrill get you hot?”

Brandon’s posture slackened, though he was still visibly agitated. He turned around and stared at the wall with a furrowed brow. Sybil finally got up off of Father Richards (who gasped for air now that the extra weight was gone) and approached Brandon carefully. She tilted her head to the side and crossed her hands behind her back, posing like a shy wood nymph.

“Brandon?” she called, her voice raising an octave and dripping with sugary sweetness. “Honey?”

Brandon didn’t respond. Sybil swung her foot in an arc, walking forward like a ballerina. She stretched out her arms, and embraced him from behind. For a moment, Brandon’s entire body went rigid as though he’d stared into the eyes of Medusa herself. He smirked, letting his shoulders go slack, and turned to face her.

“Sweetie,” he said, adopting an adoring tone as he put his hands on her shoulders, “Darling, Pumpkin, Honey-bun… you know I love you, right?”

“I know,” said Sybil, looking up at him, doe-eyed, “and I love you too.”

Brandon smiled sweetly. “I know you do,” he said, “and that’s why I haven’t already hung you up by your tits and drained you of all your fucking blood.”

Sybil shuddered with excitement. Father Richards just looked horrified.

“Because you’re  _ different _ , baby,” he said, holding her chin gently in his hand. “You’re  _ special _ . You’re not like all those other vapid cunts who only care about money and sucking cock. Now, are you going to finish up whatever you were doing with that priest or what?”

“Of course,” said Sybil, as she clasped her hands over his. “I’m sorry I started without you.”

“Good girl,” said Brandon, and he kissed her on the forehead. Sybil swooned, letting out a dreamy sigh. He looked past her, and saw Father Richards had flipped himself over, inching his way across the carpet like a worm. “Hey!”

Father Richards flinched, trying to crawl away faster. Brandon beat Sybil to him, and delivered a sharp kick to the Good Father’s ribs. Nicklaus winced in sympathetic pain as the priest let out a strangled wheeze and rolled onto his side.

“Where do think you’re going, hmm?” Brandon asked, leaning over Father Richards as though he were scolding a child. “You think you’re just gonna up and  _ leave? _ ”

“Please,” Father Richards begged, trying to get the words out between rattling coughs, “have  _ mercy. _ ”

Brandon’s face crinkled as he laughed, baring his teeth. “ _ Please, _ ” he echoed, in a nasal, mocking voice, “ _ have _ mercy!” He laughed again, doubling over and shaking his head. Sybil started to giggle, covering her mouth coyly, before she couldn’t hold it in and started cackling like a hyena.

Nicklaus pressed himself up against Eddie, letting out his own weak laughter. He turned to look at Eddie, his eyes wide in panic as he hugged his knees. Eddie lifted his hand and placed it on the crown of Nicklaus’ head, petting his hair, and Nicklaus’ nervous laughter quietly subsided. He stopped stroking the other man’s wavy, salt-and-pepper locks, but kept his hand in place. He had the feeling Nick was going to need the physical contact to make it through this without getting himself hurt.

With his foot, Brandon nudged Father Richards so that he rolled onto his back. The father moaned in agony, but was cut short when Brandon stamped his foot square in the center of his chest.

“I asked you,  _ where do you think you’re going? _ ” Brandon repeated. The smile on his lips had vanished, and was now replaced with an expression of utter contempt. “Hmm?” He ground the heel of his shoe against Father Richards’ sternum.

“Why are you doing this?” Father Richards asked pitifully.

“Why?” Brandon smirked, and looked over to Sybil, who was watching him with nothing but intense adoration. She appeared to be quite giddy, and barely contained an excited squeal. Brandon looked back down to Father Richards, and leaned over him, so that he might get a good, long look at the other man’s face.

He whispered, “Because I hate you.”

“W-what?”

“I hate you,” Brandon said louder, standing erect and removing his foot from off of the priests’ chest. “Not you in particular, at least, not before you started sniveling like a little  _ bitch. _ ” He began to walk around Father Richards, scrutinizing him. “How many little boys have sucked that pee-pee of yours, hmm?”

“I would never--”

“Is that why you’re getting soft? She doesn’t look enough like an eight-year-old for you?”

“Please--”

“He was plenty hard before,” said Sybil. “I had him eat me out and he got hard as a rock.”

“Really?” Brandon chuckled. “Well, holy shit. Maybe he isn’t one of the kiddie-diddlers then.”

“He even stayed hard as Eddie butt-fucked him,” Sybil said, getting more excited. “Nick fucked his mouth. Pretty sure he swallowed some jizz.”

“So then he’s just a faggot instead of a pedo,” said Brandon.

“Please, stop!” Father Richards cried out, his voice becoming shrill. “Please… for the love of God, just  _ please _ … please  _ stop _ …” He broke down into tears, the salt water mixing with the blood, making it difficult for him to see. His mouth was open and twisted in anguish, resembling the theatrical Tragedy mask as he let out a low bellow.

Brandon looked down on the Good Father, one corner of his mouth pulled upwards in a smug smile. “No, not yet,” he said. He looked to Sybil. “You still wanna finish with him?”

“Of course I do,” she said. “You just sit back and relax, sweetie.”

Brandon clapped his hands together. “Excellent!” He stepped over Father Richards, and took a seat on the couch. He sat with his feet on the ground and his elbows on his knees. He gestured towards Sybil, wheeling his wrist around so that his palm faced upward. “Proceed.”

Sybil stalked over Father Richards and straddled him. Father Richards turned his head away in shame, but Sybil leaned in close to his face and grabbed him by the shirt, pulling him upright. He tucked his legs beneath him, and Sybil posed him so that he was kneeling before her, hanging his head. She crouched down, legs spread wide apart, and reached out and cradled his face in her hands. Gently, he lifted it up until their eyes met. For a brief moment, her giant, spooky eyes looked innocent, like the eyes of a lost little girl. Despite himself, Father Richards betrayed a quick smile. Sybil smiled serenely, and pulled the Good Father’s face in closer. Her lips hovered close by the Father’s own, and he parted his lips in anticipation, only for her head to tilt up to his forehead. She opened her mouth, and ran her tongue on the space between his eyes. Father Richards closed his eyes and winced as Sybil lapped up the blood and tears off his face.

“You can’t do  _ that, _ ” Nicklaus whispered. “That’s not healthy.”

“Neither’s unprotected sex,” Eddie whispered back. “We still did it anyway.”

Nicklaus shuddered, and Eddie stroked his hair again.

Having cleaned up most of the blood, Sybil wiped her mouth, smearing blood across her lips. The blood from the incision on Father Richards’ forehead started to well up again, and it trickled down along his nose. Sybil grabbed a hold of the priest’s cock, giving it a few quick jerks before taking it in her mouth. Brandon watched with keen interest, though he’d not yet made any move to pleasure himself.

It didn’t take very long for Father Richards to get hard again. He whimpered as Sybil took her time playing with his erection, and he started to pray again.

“Th-The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want,” he said breathlessly, “He makes me lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside quiet waters.”

Sybil lifted her head, and her mouth widened with a lecherous grin. She climbed upwards, sitting on his lap, making sure their genitals were touching as she wrapped her arms around his neck. As she kissed his jaw line, she rocked her hips against his, causing him to gasp.

“He restores m-my soul,” he continued, “He g-guides me in the paths of righteousness, for His name’s sake.”

She lifted her hips, and grabbed a hold of Father Richards’ cock, down by the root. Carefully, she lined up the head of his penis between the inner lips of her labia, and cast a quick glance at Brandon. Brandon nodded in approval. Satisfied, Sybil began to sink down, and her cunt slowly swallowed the head of his dick.

“E-Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I f- _ fear _ no evil, for You  _ are with me, _ ” Father Richards cried, his breath quickening. “Your rod and Your staff, they c _ -comfort _ me.” His voice was high and delirious, and he closed his eyes as Sybil sank down on his cock, letting out a breathy moan.

Once she’d gotten up to his hilt, she held Father Richards’ chin in her hand. “Keep going,” she breathed. “Keep fucking praying.”

“Y-you prepare a t- _ table  _ before me in the presence of my enemies,” he continued, as Sybil slid back up, “You have anointed my head wi— _ my head _ with oil!” She’d slammed right back down onto his lap. He panted and moaned again. “My cup  _ overflooows! _ ”

Eddie watched all this passively, keeping his hand on top of Nicklaus. He looked over at Brandon, and saw he had pulled his cock out, and was now casually masturbating.

“Surely goodness… and lovingkindness… will follow me all the days of my life,” he said, as Sybil began bouncing in his lap. He stopped, and lolled his head back, letting out a long groan. Sybil grabbed a handful of his hair, and pulled his neck back further.

“Finish it,” she hissed through gritted teeth.

Father Richards began to weep pitifully, choking on his tears. She was still riding him, and yanked harder on his hair until he cried out in pain. He hadn’t noticed her free hand, the hand farthest from Brandon, reaching for something on the floor.

“FINISH IT!”

He gulped for air, and then for a brief moment, as he stared at the ceiling, his features turned calm, serene. He lifted his head, and stared Sybil down, his face mere inches away from hers. His own eyes were soft, and gentle, though they were red from crying and his cheeks were stained with blood and tears. Sybil stopped bouncing for a moment, and stared back at him.

He finally spoke. “And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

Sybil’s face turned red, and she began to ride him harder, and held him close to her. Her right hand, which had been on the floor, suddenly swung upwards, and her fist slammed into the side of Father Richards’ neck. Eddie pushed himself away from the wall and craned his neck upwards to get a better look. He noticed that, in her fist, was the pair of scissors she’d used earlier, and their handle was sticking out to the side. Blood flecked upon her hand and ran down Father Richard’s neck.

Nicklaus quickly noticed this too, and screamed out “NO!” He scrambled forward, in an attempt to rescue the priest, but Eddie grabbed him by the ankle and reeled him back in. Nicklaus kicked at him in desperation, but Eddie, though shorter, was able to overpower him easily. Eddie pulled Nick into a bear hug, squeezing the other man’s arms to his side, as Nicklaus tried to wriggle free.

Father Richards struggled to breathe around the metal blades stuck in his throat, but only managed cough and dribble blood down his front and onto Sybil’s naked breasts. Brandon sat up at attention, letting go of his penis.

“Hey!” he shouted, “The fuck do you think you’re--”

Sybil didn’t listen. She was still gasping and moaning in complete ecstasy as she tugged on the blade in Father Richards’ neck, trying to drag it across to the other side. Unfortunately, the tissue was too tough to slice, especially with the dull side of the scissor blades, so instead she ripped them out. The blood spewed across the carpet, flecks of red hitting the far wall. Father Richards gurgled as he choked on his own blood. Nicklaus let out an anguished scream.

She shoved Father Richards onto his back, and brought down the scissors again, stabbing between two ribs on his left side. The priest opened his mouth to scream, but the only thing that came out was more frothy blood. She stabbed him again between his ribs again, and again, and a fourth time, hoping that she’d managed to puncture his heart, but he was still alive and having spasms beneath her. Finally, she lost her patience, and drove the blade into his eye-socket, aiming upwards towards his brain. The spasms finally stopped. Father Richards burbled up another mouthful of blood, and he fell completely still. It was at that moment that the life drained out of him that Sybil threw back her head and howled as she came.

For a while, nobody said anything. Sybil rode out the rest of her orgasm, and collapsed against the now dead man’s chest. Brandon stood to his feet, tucked his penis back into his pants and zipped up his fly. Eddie squeezed Nick tighter, hoping he could stop the other man from trembling as much as he did.

Brandon was the first one to speak, looking down at Sybil with a look of mild annoyance. “You know,” he said, “we have the shed for this kind of thing. Instead, now this room’s gotta be cleaned up because  _ somebody _ got impatient.”

Sybil wrenched the scissors out of the dead man’s socket and pushed herself off of the corpse beneath her. She turned to Brandon and flashed him her best Bambi-eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said in a cutesy voice, “I just got caught up in the  _ mood, _ is all.”

Brandon sighed. “I know you do. You always fucking do. But if you ever fucking get blood all over my carpet again, I can’t guarantee that I won’t cut your fucking legs off.”

“But you wouldn’t kill me,” she said dreamily. “I  _ knew _ you loved me.”

“Of course I love you,” said Brandon. He offered his hand to Sybil and helped her up, as Father Richards’ cock slid out of her and fell forward, still heavy with blood. “It’s not everyday I meet a girl who shares my interests, after all.”

“Aww,” Sybil said, and spread out her arms to embrace Brandon.

Brandon put up his hand, and indicated towards her chest. “Nuh-uh. No way. I just got this shirt dry-cleaned.”

Sybil let her arms fall to her side and pouted. “Ugh,  _ fine _ . Be that way.”

Eddie was still hanging on tightly to Nicklaus, pulling him against his chest. Nick still faced forward, his eyes locked on the dead man on the floor. Eddie could feel his chest rise and fall deeply, and his body start to shake. Eddie squeezed him tighter, hoping to steady him.

Brandon looked down at the body on the floor. “Go get the tarp. We’re gonna need the steam vac and the carpet shampoo.”

“I can’t carry all that by myself,” said Sybil.

“I’ll help you,” said Brandon. “Then we gotta figure out what we’re gonna do with him.”

Sybil nodded, and stalked over to the door in her boots. Brandon opened the door for her, and watched her as she moved.

“Take those boots off, too,” he said. “They look fucking ridiculous.”

“Shut up, they’re cool!” said Sybil, as Brandon followed her out. He shut the door and fastened the locks. Their voices and footsteps could be heard, going upstairs and away, growing fainter and fainter.

Eddie finally loosened his grip on Nicklaus, and Nicklaus stumbled forward. He fell to his knees in front of Father Richards, and slowly reached out to him. Nicklaus’ hands framed the Good Father’s face, holding it as gently as he’d hold a glass bauble. He stroked the Father’s dark, curly brown hair, and he shook his head.

“I told him… I  _ told _ him he’d make it through this,” Nicklaus said. “I said I believed it. I told him to be  _ strong _ …”

Eddie got up and approached Nicklaus. He put a hand on the other man’s shoulder, and Nicklaus flinched.

“This isn’t your fault,” said Eddie. “You didn’t know.”

“I should have seen it coming,” said Nicklaus. “I should have. But I didn’t think she would do it. I  _ hoped _ she wouldn’t do it. Not to a priest. Not to a man of God.”

Eddie didn’t say anything. He sat down on the floor beside Nicklaus, careful not to touch any blood; most of it was pooling on the other side of Father Richards’ body. He laced his hands together, and waited.

“You know,” said Nicklaus, “this is the third time I’ve watched a man die.”

“Third?”

“Yes.” Nicklaus’ Adam’s apple bobbed as he contemplated his words. “The first time, I was a young man. I was visiting Frankfurt. I was with a friend of mine, Roland. I don’t believe I told you about him, but we went to university together. He was from Frankfurt, and he wanted me to visit. We weren’t dating, of course. He didn’t know about that yet.”

Nicklaus paused for a moment as he retracted his hands from the corpse. “We were walking back to his flat, and we took a longer route, just so that we could talk. There is this building in Frankfurt, called the City-Haus. Before it was completed, there was a fire on one of the upper floors, which is the only thing I really knew about it, and that had been a few years back. I found out later that it was the headquarters of DZ Bank, back when they were still DG Bank.” He shook his head. “But I’m getting carried away. I always do that when I tell stories.

“Anyway, Roland and I were walking alongside this building, about 140 meters tall, and he looked up by chance and stopped me, and pulled me back. I asked him what was wrong, but all he could say was ‘Get out of the way! Get out of the way!’ I almost pulled away just to spite him, but then I heard people around me screaming… and I saw it.” He turned to look Eddie in the eye. The side of his mouth was twitching, and his throat had constricted as he spoke.

“I saw a man fall from the sky, and onto the sidewalk.”

Again, Eddie stayed silent, though his eyes widened and his brow arched. Nick continued.

“He hadn’t jumped from the top floor; I think it might have been something like the 20 th . I don’t think it matters much. He would have died either way.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “He missed me, but only by a meter or so. I think he might have even been aiming for me… just so that he might take out a youth with him, I suppose. Thanks to Roland, he missed, but I still had gotten his blood on my…” Nicklaus balled his hand into a fist and held it over his mouth as he tried to compose himself. “… On my shoes.

“It was horrible, Eddie. His head burst open, like a rotten pumpkin, and the sound… it was such a horrible, sickening sound. I’ll never forget it. It was crunchy and wet... and  _ thick _ , like… punching a side of beef, I suppose.

“I found out later he had been misappropriating funds, and he was about to be arrested by the BPK when he jumped. I still don’t understand why he chose to die instead, and in front of so many people… I had hoped that was the last time I’d ever see someone die. I knew many people who  _ did _ die, but I was not there to watch as they passed. The second time I watched somebody die… well, you already know about that.”

Eddie nodded solemnly. “Yeah,” he said. “Your partner…”

“He died in my  _ arms _ , Eddie,” Nicklaus was struggling to keep himself from completely falling apart. “Ichiro died in my arms, his heart just  _ gave out _ … we thought it had been under  _ control _ , we thought the medication was  _ enough _ … we just went out for a run, like we always had, and…” he couldn’t continue, and instead tried to keep his lip from trembling. He reached out towards Father Richards, and took the dead man’s hand between his own.

“What’s that saying you have over here?” he asked with a sniffle. “The third time is charming?”

“Third time’s a charm,” Eddie corrected.

Tears welled up in Nicklaus’ eyes, and he set Father Richards’ hand back down before he threw his arms around Eddie’s shoulders, and wept. Eddie patted him on the back, just holding him as Nicklaus wailed and gasped between sobs. He could feel Nick’s tears run down the side of his neck, and he rocked him gently.

“It’s alright,” said Eddie gently. “I gotcha.”

“No, no, it’s not alright,” Nicklaus said. “He’s dead and we just watched it happen, we just  _ watched _ . I wanted him to live through this, Eddie.”

“I know you did, I know.” Eddie patted Nick’s back.

“We could have told him so many stories,” Nicklaus blubbered. “Told stories and drew and sang and--”

Eddie broke the hug, held Nicklaus back at arm’s length. He stared at Nicklaus for a second, his eyes wide and his jaw slack, before he broke into manic grin. “Nick,” he said, “I love you.”

“What--” Nicklaus started, but was cut off when Eddie pulled him back in and kissed his forehead. Eddie scurried over to the corner of the room as Nicklaus tried to process what just happened. “What are you…?”

“You brilliant son of a bitch,” Eddie said, grabbing a hold of the piece of paper Nick had been drawing on earlier. He smacked it against the wall and held it in place as he reached for Nick’s pencil. “You’ve saved us!”

Nicklaus looked bewildered for a brief moment before it dawned on him. “Oh my God,” he said breathlessly. “You’re thinking of…”

“Our ticket out of here.” Eddie hastily scribbled out a note at the bottom of the page, and leaned back as he looked over it.

Crickett and Messmer are alive   
in Brandon Hamilton house   
PLEASE SEND HELP

Eddie tore off the bottom of the page containing the message, and folded it up as many times as he could. He scrambled back to Father Richards. His eyes scoured over Richard’s body until finally he reached for Richard’s jaw. He opened the priest’s mouth and held the note between two of his fingers before tucking it under his tongue. Eddie retracted his hand, and wiped the dead man’s spit on his pant leg.

“Do you think that will work?” asked Nicklaus.

“If it’s not found before rigor mortis sets in,” said Eddie. “Here’s hoping.”

Nicklaus trembled with manic, nervous energy, and nodded.

“You okay there?” Eddie asked.

“I… I’m not sure,” he said. “We’ve been offered an opportunity to finally be rescued… but a man had to die for it. A good man.”

Eddie sighed. “I know, Nick,” he said, “and that’s unfortunate. But at least now, he didn’t die in vain.”

Nicklaus tried his best to form a hopeful smile, but it crumbled, and he wept into his hands. Eddie sidled up next to him, and patted his shoulder.

The sound of footsteps and muffled conversation came back over their heads. Eddie shushed Nicklaus, who did his best to swallow any more sobs, and held his shoulders.

“Get dressed,” he said. “And don’t let them see you cry.”

“Give me a moment,” said Nicklaus. “I need to say good-bye.”

“You hardly knew the guy, Nick.”

“It won’t feel right unless I do.”

Eddie sighed. He got up, and as he went to gather Nicklaus’ pants and tug his underwear back up his chain, Nicklaus leaned over Father Richards, and took the dead man’s hand. He took a deep breath and tried to get his shudders out as he exhaled. His body was steady now. He clasped his other hand on top of the father’s tenderly, and planted a kiss on his knuckles.

“Rest well, Father,” he said. “I’m so sorry that this happened. You never deserved any of this… but thank you for delivering Eddie’s message.” He kissed the Father on his forehead, on a spot that was clean of blood, and rested the dead man’s hand over his still heart. The moment was ruined, however, when a pair of pajama pants flew into Nick’s head, draping over his face.

“Hurry,” Eddie said, “we don’t have much time!”

Nicklaus acted quickly, yanking his underwear back on and zipping into his pants. Eddie waved him over to where the dog crate was, in the far corner of the room, and Nicklaus scurried over to huddle by the other man’s side. As the sound of footsteps could be heard on the basement stairs, Nicklaus tried to wipe any remaining tears that stained his cheeks. If Sybil didn’t get close, perhaps she wouldn’t be able to tell that his beard was wet.

The door opened again, and Brandon walked in, carrying a roll of plastic tarp on his shoulder, with Sybil holding the other end. She was no longer naked, but she was now wearing a white t-shirt three sizes too large for her, rubber gloves and plastic bags on her feet. Brandon, too, was wearing the gloves and bags, and he had stripped down to a wife beater and boxers. Both of them lowered the tarp to the floor, and started untying the cords that bound it together.

Brandon was silent as he unrolled the tarp, his expression statuesque. He motioned to Sybil, and they stood on opposite ends of the corpse. Brandon grabbed a hold of his ankles, and Sybil held his wrists. She looked up at Brandon imploringly, and Brandon gave her a curt nod. They lifted him off the floor, Sybil groaning in exertion, and they both crab-walked over the tarp, and unceremoniously dropped him on the edge. Eddie and Nicklaus both watched intently as they rolled Father Richards up like a human burrito, and tied the tarp shut. The priest’s shoes could still be seen poking out the end, their soles scuffed and well-worn; the remnants of some sticky, blackened gunk underneath the ball of his left foot. Eddie forced himself to look away and stay poker-faced. So instead, he found his eyes wandering over the rest of the room, taking it all in; the remnants of Father Richards’ pants, the goat mask, the stains of blood and semen on the carpet. He felt a strange sense of detachment from what just happened. His prison was now also a crime scene. Hopefully, he thought, it wouldn’t be his prison for much longer.

Brandon grabbed a hold of the tarp and dragged it out into the hall. Sybil brought out the steam vac, and shampooed it thoroughly. Once the foam turned pink and she sucked up all the red, she shut off the vacuum cleaner and ran her hand over the wet carpet. There was still a ghost of a stain left behind, but she seemed satisfied with her work, and wheeled the vacuum out into the hallway. Then she shut and locked the door.

Eddie made his way towards the door cautiously, going as far as the chain would allow him. He couldn’t put his ear against the wall, but he could pick up their conversation well enough.

“So what are we going to do with him?” asked Brandon.

“I kind of want him to be found, you know?” said Sybil. “Just imagine how much people will lose their minds. This’ll be all over the news.”

“We’ve already done shit that’s been all over the news.”

“Yeah, but I’m talking like, national level, 24-hour-cable-news news. Like Jonben é t Ramsey type of news coverage, and everybody flipping their shit over who could do something like this.”

“How the fuck do you know about Jonben é t Ramsey? Were you even born yet?”

“Uh, okay, first off, I  _ was _ born, and second,  _ of course _ I fucking know about her. Serial killer fangirl, remember?”

“Pretty sure her parents murdered her and got away with it. No serial killing involved.”

“It’s a high profile murder. It’s still within, like, the realm of my interests. Same for mass shooters and bombers and cult leaders. They’re all kinda my  _ thing. _ ”

“What a healthy range of interests you have.”

“Says the guy who got me into this.”

“Yeah, whatever. Getting back on track here, you really wanna dump this dude? He’s covered in DNA evidence.”

“Nickie and Eddie’s DNA evidence.”

“And yours.”

“Everybody thinks I’m dead, remember? Who’s gonna suspect me?”

Brandon went quiet.

“Besides, none of  _ yours _ is on him.”

“Did anybody see you with him when you picked him up?”

“Nope. I was super careful. You would have been proud.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive like Freddy Mercury, sweetie.”

Eddie looked back at Nicklaus to see if he heard that joke. Nicklaus was hugging his knees, his posture rigid with anxiety, but he didn’t look like he was listening. Good, Eddie thought. The man was a bundle of nerves as it was. He didn’t need anything else to upset him.

“So where are we dumping him?”

“Wow, Brandon, I’m not used to you asking me how to do all this.”

“You brought him in, you fucked him, you killed him, so  _ you _ have to be in charge of dumping him.”

“Ugh, fine. I dunno. I kind of want to dump him near a playground or something, to be honest.”

“Jesus  _ Christ, _ you’re sick.”

“Isn’t that why you love me?”

There was a pause.

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

Sybil squealed. Eddie imagined her throwing her arms around Brandon’s neck, bouncing with glee.

“Alright, that’s enough,” said Brandon. “Let’s put him away before he starts to stink.”

Eddie backed away from the door. He looked back to Nicklaus and made his way over to him. He sat on the floor beside him.

“Hey.”

“Hello, Eddie,” Nicklaus replied. He shivered.

“How you hangin’ in there, buddy?”

Nicklaus let out a dry laugh. “Not very well, I’m afraid.”

“I heard them talking,” said Eddie. “Sybil wants to dump him where somebody’ll find him. That means our chances of getting out of here have just shot up.” He chuckled. “We’re getting out of here!”

“Wonderful,” Nicklaus said flatly. “That’s great.”

Eddie looked Nicklaus up and down. His eyes were glassy and vacant as he stared at the door on the opposite side of the room.

“Nick?” Eddie’s brow knitted as he leaned forward, so that he could look Nicklaus in the face.

“I’m sorry,” said Nicklaus. “I don’t feel like talking right now.”

Eddie was taken aback. He stared at Nicklaus and tried to process what he’d just heard. He crossed his arms and rested them atop his knees, and let his chin fall on top of them. The only time Nick ever shut the hell up was when he was asleep, otherwise he was as chatty as a canary.

“So, that’s it, then,” said Eddie. “You’re just gonna sit here hugging yourself.”

Nicklaus gave a shaky nod.

Some switch inside of Eddie’s brain had flipped. Eddie felt his face becoming red, and he cracked his knuckles with his thumb. He was overwhelmed by an acute feeling of annoyance, aimed at Nick, who was just  _ sitting there, _ moping over some guy he barely knew.

“We finally got something to actually hope for, and you’re pulling this on me,” he muttered.

Nicklaus said nothing. He refused to even look at Eddie.

“Well, for the first time in a long time, I’m actually excited,” said Eddie. “I feel like there’s a reason to keep on living that’s not keeping you company. Every single goddamned day, I wanted to die, and you were yammering on about ‘oh, Eddie, today could be the day, Eddie, today could be the day that they find us!’” He did his best impersonation of Nick, complete with his accent and hand gestures.

Nicklaus turned his head slightly, looking at Eddie with watery eyes. Still, he said nothing.

“You suck up to her, you act like her goddamned lapdog, all ‘ _ yes, _ Mistress,’ and ‘ _ please, _ Mistress’ and ‘I’d be  _ happy _ to shove my gay face in your hairy snatch while Eddie sucks my dick, Mistress.’ She could piss in your mouth and you’d drink every last drop, if she were into that.” Eddie felt like spitting. Instead, he opted for a bitter “pssh” noise.

Nicklaus hugged his knees tighter and started to quiver.

“But the one time, the  _ one time, _ something gets brought in and we got a chance to send out an SOS, and you just completely withdrawal. You’ve seen three people die, Nick? I saw three people die  _ in one goddamned night _ .”

“Eddie--”

“You lost  _ one _ boyfriend to a heart failure,” Eddie continued, “and meanwhile, I’ve had family taken out by murderers  _ twice _ . You have  _ no idea _ what it’s like to see your own brother’s face plastered all over the news, and finding out that your parents, your sister-in-law, and your nephew are  _ all dead _ \--”

“Eddie, please--”

“But oh no,  _ Nicklaus _ , levelheaded survivor  _ Nicklaus, _ subservient doormat  _ Nicklaus _ who’s not all emotional and irrational like ole’ suicidal Eddie,  _ he’s _ the one who melts into a big ole’ gooey puddle of self-pity over a man we barely knew for less than  _ two goddamned hours _ .”

“Eddie--”

Eddie seized Nicklaus by the shoulders, pulled him out of his ball and briefly shook him. “But when push came to shove, it was on  _ Eddie _ to think of something, ‘cause poor ole’ Nicklaus is too sad over some guy he helped rape--”

“Eddie, why are you doing this?” Nicklaus cried out. “A man is  _ dead, _ Eddie! A man is  _ dead _ and now you’re yelling at me!”

Eddie stopped. All the steam he’d gathered had evaporated. He stared at Nicklaus, who sobbed as his face twisted into an ugly, dribbling grimace.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be happy, alright?” Nicklaus said. “I know I haven’t been through what you have! I know. I’m sorry I didn’t think of the note. I’m sorry I got so upset and I’m sorry for everything you’ve been through. Just please… please don’t  _ yell _ at me.”

As Nicklaus choked on his tears, Eddie’s mind cleared only to be crushed by an overwhelming sense of shame. The pink scar on his arm tingled. He could feel Catalina’s disappointment in him. His Kitty Cat, his rock, his truly better half would be sickened to see him like this; to see him acting like his father.

He let go of Nicklaus’ shoulders, and hung his head. His thoughts swirled into a mixture of guilt and traumatic memories, causing his head to spin. He could feel the weight of the garbage bags rolling on top of him in Brandon’s car, he could smell their blood. He remembered when one bag started to writhe as it was pulled out, and the muffled, high-pitched screaming that followed as that son of a bitch started stomping on it…

Eddie balled his fist in front of his mouth, and closed his eyes. He felt the cold sweat on his arms and shoulders and back.

Nicklaus snorted back a wad of snot threatening to ooze out his nose. He wiped at his puffy red eyes with the back of his hand. “Eddie?”

Eddie’s mouth suddenly felt rubbery and acid burned at his throat as his stomach flip-flopped. He scrambled to the bathroom, throwing the door open and hurled into the toilet. He heaved repeatedly, coughing up the soupy remains of his breakfast until his abs ached. With a trembling hand, he reached for the handle, and has he flushed the toilet, he slid down onto the floor, his cheek resting on the cold tile. As he caught his breath, he could hear Nicklaus chains rattling and coming closer.

Eddie flipped onto his back, and looked up at Nicklaus, who was standing in the door, gripping the frame tightly. Nicklaus bit his lip to keep it from trembling and stood there for a few awkward seconds before he got down on the floor and lay down next to him. Eddie smirked, and coughed up a hoarse laugh.

“Eddie?”

Eddie cracked open an eye. “Yeah?”

“Are you alright?”

“I feel like I should be the one asking that to you,” Eddie said with a wheeze. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Nicklaus said, trying to suppress every indication in his voice that it was not really fine at all. “It’s not been a very good day.”

“Understatement of the goddamned year,” Eddie said with a chuckle. He rolled away from Nick as he coughed hard enough that he was afraid he might spew again. He pounded his chest to ease the process, until his lungs were clear and his eyes wet. “I’m fine,” he croaked. “I’m fine.”

Eddie rolled back towards Nick, and sniffled. He closed his eyes, and focused on breathing.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you really think they’ll find that note?” Nicklaus asked. “What if nobody ever finds him, for weeks or months or years? What if the paper gets so damaged nobody can even read it anymore? What if Sybil or Brandon find it first?”

Eddie smirked. “First time I’ve ever heard you fret so much.”

“You didn’t answer.” Nicklaus looked at him with all the despair of a man first doubting the existence of God. “Do you think this is going to work?”

Eddie sighed, and decided the best way to answer was to be honest. “I don’t know. Something could go wrong, I guess. Things happen.”

“But it’s going to work, more likely than not, yes?” Nicklaus was pleading with him.

Eddie sighed. “I hope so. If it doesn’t, at least we could say we tried.”

Nicklaus nodded. “Yes,” he agreed. “we tried.”

For a while, they said nothing, and lay there together. They could hear the sound of rap music playing through the walls, soft and muffled as though it were through cotton. Nicklaus rolled over until he was lying against Eddie. He was on his side, and he rested his face in the crook of Eddie’s neck. Eddie didn’t roll away from him, or push him off, or otherwise reject him. There wasn’t much point to it now. Eddie was warm and he was there and Nick needed him. Eddie wasn’t sure how long they laid there before Nicklaus’ breathing slowed and he started snoring gently.

“You fall asleep there?” Eddie asked.

Nicklaus snorted. “No, of course not,” he said. “Why would I?”

“Because there’s fuck all else to do and we wore ourselves out?”

“Do you have any ideas on how I might better use my time then, Eddie?”

“Not really, no,” Eddie replied.

“Then you don’t mind if I just lie here next to you?”

“Go ahead,” Eddie said with a sigh, “but damned if I knew why you’d want to.”

“I’ve never been able to hold a grudge,” said Nicklaus, and snuggled up to him. He rested his head on Eddie’s chest, against the flaming, pierced heart tattoo on his left pectoral. “Your heart… it’s so steady and strong.”

“Mmmm.” Eddie let Nicklaus drape his arm over him as Nick pressed his chest against his side, thirsty for skin-to-skin contact. Nick’s skin was heated, as though he’d been sitting in front of a furnace, which was in sharp contrast to the cool bathroom tile. It was pleasant, in its own way, having this human contact that didn’t involve any pain or humiliation. He didn’t want to get up.

Nicklaus was there, and he always forgave him.


	2. The Tempest

Towards the far end of Brandon Hamilton’s property, there was a shed. It was a sizable shed, 10 ft by 8 ft, and from the outside, it was completely unassuming. It was painted white, with a grey-tiled roof and large twin doors held in place with a padlock and chain. It looked well-maintained, free of any chipping paint or damage to its wooden frame. The view from its arched windows to the right of the doors only showed sun-bleached blinds. In this shed was where Brandon indulged in his favorite pastime: torturing and killing human beings.

As Brandon and Sybil lugged the corpse of Father Richards to the shed, the sky grew thick with steel-colored clouds, and it rumbled in disapproval. The grieving heavens began to shed their first drops of rain, much to Brandon’s displeasure.

“Shit,” Brandon muttered. This entire situation had turned into one massive inconvenience. He’d been looking forward to a quiet evening, perhaps catching up on Game of Thrones and knocking back some whiskey, probably while Sybil idly played with his junk. But  _ no, _ she had to go out and drag somebody in off the street, without even consulting with him first. And then she had to kill him  _ inside, _ down in the basement. He hoped no blood had gotten on the hardwood floors; he’d just had them waxed. Now he had this extra headache to deal with, and on top of that, he’d have to go driving out in the rain to dump this guy.

When they reached the shed, Brandon dropped his end onto the ground without ceremony. Sybil let out a surprised squeak; she was still holding his lower end. Brandon smirked. He pulled his keys out of his pocket, and found the shed key. He grabbed a hold of the padlock, and shoved the key in, twisting it with a grunt as the padlock snapped open. He pulled the chain out from the shed’s door handles, and pulled the twin doors open.

The flies that had been crawling over the stained butcher’s table scattered and buzzed about in alarm. Chains hung from the ceiling, swaying gently and clinking together. Many of these chains had sharp, steel hooks dangling from their ends. Brandon made sure to clean the hooks after each use; something about them being clean made them look sharper. Along the walls were tools of all shapes and sizes; power tools, saws, knives, pliers, hammers, screwdrivers, ice-picks and more. There was even a castration tool used for stallions that Sybil had bought off somebody on Craigslist, though it hadn’t gotten any use yet.

Brandon lifted his end of the roll, and Sybil hers, as they positioned themselves beside the table.

“On three, ready?” he said.

Sybil nodded.

“One…” They rocked the body back as it gathered momentum. “Two…” Sybil’s arms were trembling as she struggled to hold on. “Three!”

They heaved the tarp upwards, and it rolled onto the table. It stopped short of the edge, and settled with a dull thump. Sybil bent down with her hands on her knees as she caught her breath. Brandon leaned against a bare spot on the wall, and crossed his arms. He looked over the blue tarp, and ran his tongue over his teeth.

“So, now what?” Sybil asked. “Were you planning on hacking him up, or…?”

“We’re stashing it here for now,” said Brandon. “We can ditch it when it’s late enough. Rain ought to clear the roads.”

Sybil nodded. “That makes sense.”

“Yep,” Brandon said. He pushed himself from the wall, and walked past Sybil, towards the open doors.

“You leaving already?” Sybil asked.

Brandon shrugged. “What else is there to do with him?”

Sybil ran her fingers over the tarp, caressing the blue nylon as though it were skin. She inhaled sharply, and retracted her hand. She rested it over her chest, and looked back to Brandon. “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

She followed Brandon outside, and he shut the twin doors. He ran the chain through the handles and looped the lock’s shackle through the two end links on the chain before he slammed it shut with the heel of his palm.

As they walked across the spacious backyard, the rain had reached a light drizzle. The sky lit up, and the low grumble of thunder came shortly afterward. Brandon broke out into a light jog, and Sybil scurried after him as she held her hands over her head to shield her from the rain. By the time they got to the back porch, the rain fell from the sky until it drummed on every open surface it could reach; the leaves on the trees, the roof of the house, the surface of the in-ground pool and the tops of their heads. Brandon grabbed a hold of the sliding glass door, and pushed it aside as Sybil slid in past him. He stepped inside and pulled the door shut again, watching the rain dribble down the glass. The drops slid down, snaking their way ever downward, crashing into other droplets and absorbing them like a paramecium swallowing bacterium. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass as his eyes adjusted their focus. His hair was wet and his bangs clumped together over his eyes, which looked as though they’d been trying to bore a hole through the glass. He shut his eyes and shook the wet out of his hair.

“Wow,” said Sybil. She pressed her nose against the glass beside him. “It’s really coming down hard, huh?”

Brandon pressed the back of his hand against her chest, and gently pushed her back. “Don’t smudge the glass,” he said. “Not unless you wanna clean it.”

“Fine,” said Sybil with a dramatic sigh. “I won’t.” She tottered away, and swayed to and fro like a drunk as she hummed to herself.

“Take your shoes off,” Brandon said without even turning around. 

Again, Sybil groaned and stopped. She kicked off her shoes, sending them clattering down the hall. Brandon wiped his own shoes on the rug by the door, pried them off. It felt good to get his shoes off, and he flexed his feet and curled his toes. It had been a long day, and he felt he could use a stiff drink. He made his way downstairs to the basement, passing by the door Sybil kept her pets, and ducked in behind the mini bar.

The bar hosted a wide variety of liquors, spirits and wines, all carefully ordered for easy access. His fingers danced in the air as he looked over the bottles before finally settling on a bottle of Hennessy. It always came back to Hennessy.

He grabbed himself a glass, and poured in the cognac. He sloshed the dark honey-colored liquor in his glass, and he held the glass underneath his nose, taking in a whiff. The scent always took him back to his first taste, when he’d been a freshman in high school and he sneaked it out from his father’s liquor cabinet for no other reason than because Tupac drank it. He’d nearly vomited that first time; the taste was so foul on his delicate palette. As much as he heaved and retched, he kept it down, and passed out in a stupor under the cherry tree just off his parents’ property. By the time it woke up, it was nighttime, and he had to climb back inside the house through the window he kept unlocked for just these occasions. If his father had noticed that there was less liquid in the bottle, he said nothing.

Brandon knocked back the glass, and the cognac ignited a fire in his guts set his nerves alight. He poured himself another glass as he heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

In walked Sybil, stalking towards the bar with crane’s legs and her arms tucked behind her back. She sat on one of the stools and brought her arms forward to cross them in front of her, resting her elbows on the bar and her chin on her wrists. She kicked her legs idly as Brandon capped the bottle and set it back in its place on the shelf.

“Yes?” Brandon asked.

Sybil scrunched up her mouth like a toddler refusing his mother’s spoon. She stayed like that for a few seconds before she finally spoke. “Are you mad at me?”

Brandon closed his eyes and sighed. He tilted back his head, glass to his lips, and let the Hennessy slide down his gullet. He let out a satisfied “ah.” “I’m not mad at you, Sybil,” he said.

“Really?” Sybil asked, looking up with those full-moon eyes.

“I’m  _ annoyed, _ ” Brandon clarified. “Disappointed. You should have told me about this instead of going behind my back.”

“Better to ask forgiveness than permission,” said Sybil.

Brandon scoffed. “Where’d you hear that?”

“I don’t remember,” said Sybil. “Maybe I read it somewhere, I don’t know. Point is, I just wanted to be like you, you know? Be a go-getter. Try to do something by myself, just to see if I could.”

“And what if you’d gotten caught?”

“I wouldn’t squeal. I’m no stool pigeon.”

Brandon quirked an eyebrow.

“You know, ‘stool pigeon.’ A stoolie, like in those old gangster movies. You know, like Elliot Ness and his Untouchables, or whatever.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Brandon. “I’m just surprised you do.”

“I know a lot of stuff,” Sybil said. “I feel like I should get more credit for it, you know?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Brandon. “You want a drink?”

“Sure.”

“You want some cognac?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Sybil said. She waved her hand dismissively.

Brandon poured her a glass, and slid it in front of her. She lifted her head and took a sip, only to sputter and cough. Brandon snickered.

“Jesus Christ, why does everything you drink taste fucking awful?” She said as she cringed.

“You learn to appreciate it,” said Brandon. “You don’t start drinking for the taste.”

“It’s not like I never drank before,” she grumbled.

“What, did you get a hold of some wine coolers or something?”

Sybil pouted in indignation, and huffed.

“Holy shit, you did,” Brandon said with a chuckle. “Oh man.”

“Shut up,” said Sybil. “Granny never kept alcohol in the house. I had to make do with whatever I could get a hold of.”

“She probably could have used it,” said Brandon. “Maybe she wouldn’t have been such a stuck-up bitch.”

Sybil smiled and her cheeks glowed. “Yeah…” She swirled the contents around in her glass. She took another sip, and grimaced as she swallowed. “I wish we could kill her.”

“I know you do,” said Brandon, “but I’m not changing my mind. I’m not fucking suicidal.”

“I know,” Sybil sighed. “I just think about how I’d do it, you know? I’d probably, like, paint a pentagram on the floor with her blood and cut up all her Jesus paintings. Fucking trash her house, you know?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Brandon hummed. He had a pleasant buzz going.

“I hate her,” said Sybil. “I hate her stinking guts. She’d deserve it.” She finished her drink, and slammed the glass down onto the bar. “You ever think about killing somebody who  _ really _ deserved it, Brandon?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like, somebody who was just completely nasty and bitter and didn’t do any kind of good, you know? They just hurt people.”

“Like us?” Brandon asked as he walked out from behind the bar.

“No, not like us,” said Sybil. “I’m out for revenge.”

“Revenge against what?”

Sybil lifted her head to meet Brandon’s gaze. She narrowed her eyes. “The world.”

Brandon scoffed. “Yeah, okay.” He walked across the room until he came upon the stereo. He pressed a few buttons, and waited for the discs to shift. He stood back, and closed his eyes as the stereos thrummed with the opening beats “Good Morning” by Kanye West. The vibration in his chest was small, and he could barely feel it unless he focused on it.

“Could you turn that down a little?” Sybil raised her voice.

Brandon opened his eyes again, and scowled. When he turned around to look at her, his scowl had been replaced with a pleasant smile. “Of course, dear,” he said, and he reached for the volume knob, twisting it back a few notches. “Better?”

“Yeah,” said Sybil. “Thanks, hon.”

“Of course,” Brandon said sweetly. “This album… this album never stops being fucking great, you know?”

“It’s okay,” said Sybil. “I’ve warmed up to it.”

“I knew you would,” said Brandon. “God, I love this album. Have I told you about the artist who made the cover art? Takashi Murakami?”

“Only about a million times.”

“I never got into anime or anything like that,” said Brandon, “mostly because I was busy having a social life and fucking girls. He does a lot of anime-looking stuff, with cutesy flowers and big-eyed mascot animals, but I always felt like there was an aggression to it, you know? It’s not there to put the viewer at ease. It’s crowded and manic, it blurs the line between commercialism and high art.”

“You know what my favorite album cover is?”

Brandon stopped, and looked to Sybil as she swiveled around on her stool.

“ _ Dawn of the Black Hearts _ by Mayhem.”

She let the answer dangle in the air like bait, and he took it. “What’s that one look like?”

“It’s a photo of the band's vocalist after he committed suicide,” said Sybil. “He blew his brains out with a shotgun. The picture is right after his body was found. The gun is right there in the photo, and his brains are leaking out of his forehead.” She leaned back against the bar with a sly smile on her face. “It’s not an official release, though. It’s a bootleg of a bunch of live stuff, but it’s treated like an official release, mostly because of that cover.”

Brandon pursed his lips and nodded. “Yeah, I can see why that’s your favorite.”

“Yeah,” she said. “You wouldn’t like it, though. It’s Norwegian black metal.”

“Really?” Brandon asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m shocked. Absolutely shocked.”

Sybil giggled. “You asked.”

“I did,” said Brandon. “I did. Just out of curiosity, though, is there anything you like that doesn’t have to do with death?”

Sybil shrugged. “I like cats.”

“Jesus, it’s like I’m dating Wednesday Addams.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

A muffled cry rang out from the bedroom down the hall. It sounded like Nick. Sybil slid off her stool, and head toward the noise before Brandon stopped her by blocking her with his arm.

“Don’t,” he said. “He’ll be fine.”

Sybil nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “You’re right.”

She went back to the bar, sat back down, grabbed for the Hennessy bottle, and poured herself another glass.

“We should go out,” she said. “Celebrate. Do something fun.”

“Seems to me like you’ve had plenty of fun already.”

“I’m always up for more,” she said, lifting her glass. “I just wanna kill some time until we ditch the priest.” She pinched her nose, and swallowed the contents of her glass in one swig. She gasped, and smacked her tongue against the roof of her mouth in disgust. “… Or maybe we can kill some other things.”

“Jesus, already?” Brandon asked. “I think you might be developing an addiction.”

“Maybe,” said Sybil. “I like the rush I get.” Her speech started to slur.

“Well, I’m not going out,” said Brandon. “The weather is shit and I’m not going out unless I have to.”

Sybil groaned dramatically and leaned back against the bar. She kicked her legs like an impatient child. “So what are we going to do then?” she whined.

“We could fuck,” Brandon suggested.

“I’m all fucked out,” said Sybil. “Maybe later.” She slid off the stool and stumbled, though she caught herself by grabbing the seat of the stool behind her. She giggled. “Whoa.”

“Still a featherweight,” Brandon said. He clicked his tongue in disappointment. “I thought you might be able to hold your liquor after a while.”

“Probably ‘cause I haven’t even ate since lunch,” Sybil said. She struggled to keep her head upright and steady. “I guess I wanted to go out because _ fuck  _ making dinner.”

“Haven’t even eaten.”

Sybil stared at Brandon. “What?”

“Haven’t even eaten since lunch,” Brandon repeated. “Your grammar starts slipping when you drink.”

“Fuck off.” Sybil said, and broke out into giggles.

Brandon smirked. “I’ll take care of dinner,” he said. “Try not to pass out until then.”

“Okaaay,” drawled Sybil. She slid down onto the floor, legs splayed out before her. She tilted her head to the side, looking up at Brandon sweetly. God, she was cute. It was when she looked like this that he remembered why he’d picked her out in the first place, and it was when she fawned over him that he would remember why he kept her alive.

As he made his way towards the basement stairs, he walked past the door to Nick and Eddie’s room, and heard the sound of someone retching. 

Curious, he put his ear against the door and listened. The groaning that followed sounded like Eddie, and then Nick spoke to him. He couldn’t make out what they were saying; they were too far away from the door.

Brandon felt something in his gut, like a tug or a clench. His mind kicked into gear as he hunted down the niggling feeling in his mind like a shark, and that shark smelled blood in the water. The priest was dead. Brandon and Sybil went upstairs, and then…

His pupils dilated as it struck him. It was a hunch, but the thing he’d learned about his hunches was that they were worth acting on. He went up the stairs, treading lightly, and heard Sybil laughing at nothing in particular behind him.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Sybil picked at her duck with her fork. She was still a bit woozy, and the contents of her stomach sloshed around in protest as she pondered taking another bite.

“We should have done take-out,” she said.

“I wanted something nice,” said Brandon. “I can only eat so much General Tao’s chicken before I lose my mind.”

“At least I can finish that,” said Sybil. She pointed her fork at the plate of stuffed mushroom caps beside it. “I kinda like these, though. They got bacon in ‘em.”

“Well,” said Brandon, “at least you’re not a complete lost cause.”

She stabbed one of the caps on her fork, and took the whole thing into her mouth. “I could really jush eat thesh for a whole meal,” she said, her mouth still full.

Brandon twisted his mouth in annoyance, and took a sip of his wine. His eyes were unfocused, aimed at the empty space between them.

“Something wrong?” Sybil asked.

“Question, dearest,” Brandon said, adopting a syrupy tone, “let’s say you were being held captive by a pair of murderers in a basement.”

Sybil giggled. “Where are you going with this?”

“Just humor me, alright?” said Brandon.

“Okaaayy,” Sybil drawled. “Let’s say I am.”

“So imagine, if you will, these two incredibly good-looking murderers kill a man in front of you. And let’s say you’re not the type of person who appreciates that sort of thing.”

“Yeah, this is definitely hypothetical,” said Sybil.

“Okay, so, you’re a prisoner. You’ve been where you are for  _ months _ . You see a man die in front of you, and then those murderers that have kept you down there, they leave, and you’re alone, with a body that you know is probably going to be taken outside, and is probably going to be found by the cops.”

The smile on Sybil’s face faded, and was replaced with a look of confusion. “What are you saying?”

“What would you do, Sybil? You hate the people keeping you prisoner. You still want to get out. And there you are, in the same room as something that is going to be found by somebody outside.” Brandon’s expression turned from a smile to an eerie, blank stare. “What’s going through your mind? What do you do?”

Sybil’s eyes went wide, and the blood drained from her face. The fork in her hand dropped and clattered on the table. She pushed her chair backwards, and broke into a run towards the back door.

Thunder boomed overhead as she pulled the glass door aside, and she ran across the porch with bare feet. She hopped down the rain-slicked stairs and almost slipped towards the bottom, so she jumped off and landed in a crouch. The mud oozed between her toes as she re-orientated herself, and ran for the shed. She slammed against the doors with all her weight, shoulder first, and grabbed for the handles, only to see the lock and chain still in place.

“Hey!”

She jerked her head towards the house, and saw Brandon standing on the porch, standing under the canopy. He held up the shed keys, and jangled them like he might with a cat. “Looking for these?”

Sybil caught her breath, and jogged towards the porch, standing on the lawn beneath it. Brandon swung his arm back, and tossed the keys to her underhanded. She grabbed them, nearly dropping them into the mud as they threatened to fall through her fingers, but she clutched them to her chest and ran back to the shed.

She grabbed a hold of the padlock and tried to stick in the key with shaking hands as the sky lit up like a flashbulb. The clouds bellowed again in response as she managed to shove the key into place, twisting it and opening the lock. She yanked the padlock and key off the handles, and flung one of the doors open.

There lay the body of Father Richards, still wrapped in tarp. She stood there for a moment as she shivered; whether it was from cold or fear or anger, she could not say. She dropped the chain and padlock, letting them clatter to the floor by her feet. Slowly, she approached the table as though she were approaching a sleeping bear, and reached for the cord to turn on the single bald light bulb. She then turned around and reached for the box of rubber gloves sitting on a workbench across from the table, and slipped them on. She untied the ropes keeping the tarp together, and flung it open. Unrolling him was a chore; she had to push his shoulders up and over until he’d flipped, and then flipped him again, as she tugged the tarp out of the way and kept a hand on him to prevent him from falling off. With the tarp unrolled and trailing onto the floor, and the corpse out in the open, she leaned over the corpse, and swatted at the buzzing flies.

Father Richards, whose sun-bronzed skin glowed with warmth in life, had turned a sludgy grey color, and his previously soft, pink lips were now tinted a sickly blue. His left eye protruded from its socket slightly, and a fly crawled out of the hole there made by the scissors. The blood smeared on his face had congealed; dark red smears pasted down his dark locks against his pallor and provided a stark contrast of dull and darkened hues. Sybil touched the side of his face, which was icy and clammy to the touch. Her chest swelled with pride much in the way an artist might admire a finished piece. But she couldn’t let herself get distracted. She had to think. What would she do, were she that prisoner?

Her first thought might be to carve out a message in his skin. She unbuttoned his shirt, having to pry the sticky cloth off of the wounds in his chest. The only marks that had been made were those she made herself. As she re-fastened the buttons, she realized that neither Nick nor Eddie could have carved out a message in his skin; the sharpest they were allowed were the plastic butter knives, and Nicklaus’ pencil…

She dug her fingers around his shirt collar and near his sleeves, probing for any place a scrap of paper might be concealed. He was so heavy on his back, like a bag of wet sand, that it made the search more difficult; she shook the cloth of the shirt, hoping something would rustle inside. No luck. She then examined the remains of his pants, checking the pockets that were now attached to strips of black cloth by his ankles. At last she untied his shoes, slipping them off and shaking them upside-down to see if anything fell, before she pulled off his socks. Empty.

She leaned back against the bench, he palms flat on the surface as she propped herself up. There were other places to hide a note. But where would she stash it, if it had been her?

She spun around, and looked over the finer tools laid across the workbench. Her hand hovered over the instruments, until she picked up the tweezers. Turning back to Father Richards, bent down to examine his ear. She pinched the tweezers, and slowly inserted them into the ear canal. If something was in there, it probably wouldn’t be in too deep. She retracted them, and peered into the ear. Nothing. She rounded the table and repeated her search in his other ear. It too, turned up empty.

Sybil touched the side of Father Richards’ face, and tried to turn it towards her. His neck muscles has started to stiffen, and resisted. She gave the chin a good few tugs until something gave and his head flopped to the side. She looked up his nostrils, and stuck the tweezers inside, pinching them tighter as the nasal passage narrowed. She met no resistance, and pulled them out to explore the other nostril. The only thing she managed to find was mucus, and she wiped the tweezers onto the sleeve of Richard’s shirt in disgust.

She looked over the wound in his eye socket but stopped herself. No, that’s where she would hide it. But thinking like Sybil would probably look over less obvious hiding spots. Where would Nick or Eddie hide it?

Her gaze traveled down to the Father’s blue lips. She pulled up his upper lip, revealing pink-stained teeth. She took a hold of his chin, and pulled on it, finding that it had already gone rigid. Yanking hardly proved fruitless, and purple bruises bloomed on the skin. She huffed, and looked up to the tools on the wall.

The hammers drew her eyes to them like a magnet, dull steel heads glimmering faintly in the low light. She grinned, and approached the wall. There were spiked meat mallets, multiple claw hammers, ball peen hammers and a single sledgehammer. She reached for one of the larger claw hammers, and bounced it in her palm to test its weight. Satisfied, she returned to the body on the table.

Sybil hooked the claw end of the hammer into his mouth against the lower jaw. She pushed the handle forward, and while she had managed to open his mouth a bit wider, and poked her index finger between his teeth. They were still too close together for her to get inside. She sighed. “Fuck it,” she said, and swung the hammer into the dead man’s jaw with a wet crunch.

His lower jaw was knocked hard to the side at an angle that looked almost cartoonish, and the hinge was shattered into splinters. Sybil pried his mouth open with her fingers, and she looked into his mouth. She could have sworn his tongue was already starting to swell, though it was more likely that he bit his tongue when she stabbed him with the scissors. She poked around with her index finger, along his gums, into the back of his throat, under his tongue—

Her finger brushed against something. Her breath hitched, and she pinched the tip of his tongue to lift it. There, underneath the dead man’s tongue, was a soggy wad of paper.

She reached for the tweezers, and used them to pull out the paper, which left his mouth with a thin strand of saliva trailing behind it. Her hands started to tremble, and her face felt hot. She carefully unfolded it, careful not to let it tear it as she pulled it open and read it.

Crickett and Messmer are alive   
in Brandon Hamilton house   
PLEASE SEND HELP

The graphite had not smudged or bled, leaving the message perfectly legible. She read it and re-read it, and the duck in her guts began to slosh again. She clenched her jaw tight and her feet rooted to the concrete floor. Her mind started to move a hundred miles per hour, and a fire ignited deep in her chest. Who was it? Nick? No, not his handwriting. It was Eddie’s. Eddie did this. Nick probably helped, or maybe he just kept his mouth shut. If Brandon hadn’t thought of this possibility, and the cops found Richards, they would have been caught. It would all be over, everything she had fantasized about that she now finally had would have come crashing down in one instant. And here she thought they’d finally been sufficiently whipped. Brandon would tell her she was too soft on them, and she’d brush it off. She said she had them under her control. Now she realized Brandon had been right. They weren’t properly fearful of her, and they  _ defied _ her.

The boys needed to be taught a lesson. This could not happen again.

Her mind felt as though it was running on autopilot. She was aware that she’d pulled the tarp over Father Richards, that she’d set aside the tools, turned off the light, and locked the shed doors behind her. She was also aware of the wet paper she held in her fist as she walked across the backyard. For a split second, the sky lit up, and then it roared hard enough to shake the trees. Her nostrils flared as the rain pounded on her head like tiny bullets sprayed from a million tiny machine guns. She climbed up the porch stairs, and stared inside for a moment, peeking through wet strands of hair draped over her face, her eyes so cold they burned inside her skull. She yanked the door open the door and stepped inside to wipe her muddy, bare feet on the rug.

Brandon had finished most of his meal and looked up to see a pale, drenched Sybil standing just inside the dining room like the vengeful ghost of a drowned woman. He looked her up and down. “You find anything?” he asked.

She staggered towards him, leaving puddles in her wake, and stopped next to him. She raised her fist straight out with her arm fully extended, and opened her hand to let the wet paper splat onto the polished oak tabletop.

He cast her an odd glance before he picked up the paper like a dead mouse, unfolding it between pinched fingers. Once he read it, he looked back up at her, suddenly turning smug. “I had a hunch,” he said. “And a Hamilton’s hunches are almost never wrong.”

Sybil said nothing, and continued to drip onto the floor.

“So, now what?” he asked, tossing the paper onto the table away from him. “You gonna go down there and let them know their little plan got foiled?”

“No.”

Brandon quirked his eyebrows in genuine surprise. “No?”

“Let them think this is going to work,” she said, her voice gravelly and flat. “Let them have their hope. I want them to figure out what’s going on before I teach them a lesson.”

“Most of your lessons just involve you beating them until you get bored, or shoving them in the crate,” said Brandon. “You let them off too easy.”

“Not this time,” said Sybil. “They’re going to wish they’d never even thought about escaping. They’re going to regret ever being fucking  _ born _ . I’m going to make sure they suffer for their…” she paused, searching for the word, and sneered, “ _ insolence. _ ”

“Using vocab words,” Brandon noted. “Shit just got real.”

“They’re supposed to fear me, Brandon,” she said, and she slammed her palms onto the table. “They  _ defied _ me, they had the sheer  _ audacity _ to defy me, and they’re down there, thinking that they’ve managed to outsmart me. They almost got away with it, too.”

“You’re welcome,” said Brandon, raising his wine glass to her.

“They’re probably laughing at me down there,” she said, turning away from Brandon. “They’re mocking me. They think I’m an idiot. I can’t have that. I  _ won’t _ have that.”

“So, what’re you gonna do then?” Brandon asked. “Finally kill them?”

“No,” she said, and turned back around. She leaned over Brandon, who recoiled at the wet hair strands dripping into his lap. Her eyes met his, and he found himself in the rare and uncomfortable position of being pinned down. Through her eyes, eyes that now looked as pale as cataracts, he could see into her, catching the barest glimpse of the tempest of madness and wrath that raged inside of her. It consumed her, fueled her and gave her power. She grinned a predator’s grin, and she laughed a laugh that made him think of burned out junkies and gibbering schizophrenic homeless women without a tooth left in their heads. It sounded like bodies being thrown against garbage cans and cats yowling at ghosts. It made his stomach start to churn like a washing machine and he could feel his blood draining from his limbs and heading straight to his dick. He hid it behind the pokerface of a pro, but he still felt as though she could sense his unease. She was the only person on earth who had made him feel anything like terror, and if she ever figured that out, she would eat him alive.

“No, darling,” she said, her voice dripping like poisoned honey, “I’m going to make them beg for me to kill them.”


	3. A Glimpse of Sunshine

Nicklaus could hardly eat his dinner. His stomach had twisted into knots, making him feel sick with a mixture of excitement and dread. Mostly dread, though. The day-old, leftover Chinese food wasn’t helping. He raised his noodles to his mouth only to have images of Father Richards’ distended eye flash through his head. He lowered the chopsticks, and slumped back on the couch, resting the box on his queasy belly.

Eddie, on the other hand, seemed unusually at ease. He sat beside Nicklaus, hunched over the little take-out box, his eyes fixated on the TV. The 11 o’clock news was on. They mentioned the young man who had been shot again. Nicklaus slumped back further, until his back level with the seat cushions.

Eddie turned his head to Nicklaus, and swallowed his rice. “You feeling alright, buddy?”

“Not really,” said Nicklaus. “It’s been a miserable day.”

“Yeah, well, we’re not gonna be miserable for much longer if all this goes according to plan,” said Eddie. “You’re the one that goes on about looking on the bright side of things.”

“I know,” said Nicklaus, “and I want to. I really want to. A part of me is excited but for the most part…” He stopped, and sighed. “I don’t know. I really don’t know anymore.”

“Think about going home,” said Eddie. “Think about getting back to Munich, to your sister and your friends and your little dog.”

Nicklaus exhaled through his nose, and forced a smile. “Yes… it would certainly be nice.”

“You got a lot of people who are waiting for you,” said Eddie. “Hell, you got a whole damn country waiting for you.” Eddie chuckled, but he faltered, and the smile fell. He turned back to the television and cleared his throat.

Nicklaus turned towards Eddie, who’d gone back to his gargoyle-like pose. He didn’t seem to really look at the television, like he was focused on the negative space between himself and the television. Nicklaus picked up the box on his stomach and set it aside as he sat back upright. He put a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie turned to him.

“Emmy is waiting for you,” he said, and he gave Eddie’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “She needs you, Eddie.”

Eddie fixated on Nicklaus’ hand, and he cautiously reached over and patted it. “Thanks, Nick,” he said.

A swell of hope rose in Nicklaus’ chest for the first time since Father Richards’ death. “A means to an end,” he said. “A  _ deserving _ end.”

“Yeah,” said Eddie. “Yeah.”

The two of them sat there for a while as the television blathered on. Nicklaus felt his heart beat faster and the blood rush to his face. He took a deep, shuddering breath, hoping to keep the fluttering in his chest under control only to lose control of his conversational filter. “You should come with me to Munich, when this is all over,” he said. The words spilled out of his mouth he immediately cursed himself for letting it slip.

“Yeah?” Eddie asked.

“Sure,” he said. He hoped to God he sounded casual enough. “I’d love to have you over to visit, you and Emmy both. Have you ever been to Germany?”

Eddie chuckled and shook his head. “I haven’t even been outside North America, let alone gone to Europe.”

“Oh, that’s a terrible shame,” said Nicklaus. “There’s nothing quite like travelling. It’s such an enriching experience. Why, we wouldn’t even have to stay in Germany. There’s so much of Europe for you to see. Perhaps there’s somewhere in particular you might like to go?”

“I dunno,” Eddie said with a shrug, “I’ve always wanted to go to London. Lot of my favorite bands started there. Feels like I should go at least once.”

“Oh, I think you’d like England,” said Nicklaus. “Quite a lot of younger Englishmen have tattoos as well. I could see you making a lot of friends.”

“That right?”

“ _ I _ think so,” said Nicklaus. “I also think you’d be right at home in a proper English pub. Or maybe at a football game?”

“That sounds pretty nice,” said Eddie. “I think I’m gonna take you up on that, Nick.”

Nicklaus could feel his cheeks glow with sunbeams and his heart flitter. He wrapped his arms around Eddie’s shoulders, catching him slightly off-guard. He squeezed Eddie gently, and held him like that. Eddie had a pleasant smell, even for being down here as long as he was. He smelled a bit like old books and fresh bread. He wanted to bury his face in this man’s neck and lose himself there, to hold him and be held by him. He was the only source of comfort down here, his only true companion, and Nicklaus had fallen head over heels in love with him.

The rational part of his brain reasoned these feelings were probably a coping mechanism. The only reason he felt this way was probably because Eddie was the only person in his life right now that treated him like an equal and felt compassion for him. Besides, it would never really be reciprocated; Eddie was straight. He’d had an intelligent, witty and beautiful wife and fathered three children with her. Why on earth would he ever settle for a middle aged man and all the baggage that came with him? 

The only reason he let Nicklaus touch him in such an intimate manner was probably because Eddie couldn’t get that from anyone else. Both of them were thirsty for real intimacy, for contact that didn’t result in pain or humiliation, that they essentially used each other. Nicklaus was happy to be used by him. And as he held him like he did, he felt a twinge of sadness; when they got out, Eddie wouldn’t need him anymore. Nicklaus would just be a sentimental old man with a silly crush, looking to fill the void left in Ichiro’s wake and latching onto a man who only ever had sex with him under the watchful gaze of their terrible tyrant of a Goddess.

“Nick?”

Nicklaus blinked, snapped out of his introspection. “Yes?”

“You can let go now,” said Eddie.

Reluctantly, Nicklaus released him, and turned to face forward again. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” said Eddie. “For once, we actually got something to look forward to.”

“I hope so,” said Nicklaus. “Bang on wood.”

“ _ Knock _ on wood.”

“What?” Nicklaus turned his head to Eddie, confused.

“It’s ‘knock’ on wood,” Eddie said. He rapped his knuckle on the wall behind them to demonstrate. “You know. For luck.”

“I know what knocking on wood means,” said Nicklaus. “We came up with it.”

“That’s a German thing?”

“Well, it’s a  _ Germanic _ thing,” Nicklaus clarified. “Pagan, actually. Very old way to ward off evil spirits. You would knock on trees to distract them, or to wake the dryads.”

“Huh,” said Eddie. “Didn’t know that.”

Nicklaus leaned forward to stretch out his arm and knock on the wall behind them. He looked to Eddie, with a hopeful smile, and Eddie returned it.

“I don’t even know if this is wood,” Eddie muttered.

“I think it is,” said Nicklaus. “We are in the woods, after all. I’d be surprised if it wasn’t constructed with some of the trees out there.”

“Well, let’s hope so,” said Eddie. “I don’t want to be knocking on plasterboard.”

“No,” said Nicklaus, “no dryads in there.”

They both went quiet again, looking at each other momentarily before Eddie turned back to the television. Nicklaus felt thankful for that, otherwise he might have gotten tempted to lean in for a kiss before he remembered that, oh yes, Eddie would find that a bit weird, wouldn’t he? At the same time, Eddie’s boundaries had been lowered since he wound up here. Being trapped in the same room for months and forced to fuck for their captor’s pleasure had a way of putting these things in perspective, Nicklaus supposed. With that reasoning, he leaned against Eddie’s shoulder, and sighed when he was rewarded with Eddie stroking his hair. He relaxed against Eddie, the touch evoking a Pavlovian response as he felt his muscles go slack. He made a sound like an imitation of a cat’s purr. His mother had stroked his hair when he’d gotten upset as a boy, and purely by chance Eddie had figured out this method of soothing him. What a stupid old fool he was, latching onto this man, especially when escape was within their reach. They’d probably have to part ways after this, and the thought made his heart sink. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to escape; he wanted it very much, but he also didn’t want to lose Eddie.

Perhaps, if this was going to be one of the last days they would be together, he might as well tell him.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah, Nick?”

Nicklaus sat up straight again, and smoothed down his hair. “Can I get a bit…  _ personal, _ for a second?”

“I don’t see why not,” said Eddie, “seeing as how we’ve gotten plenty personal already.”

“Well… yes,” said Nicklaus. “I just… if we’re going to be getting out of here soon, I feel like I should tell you…” His hand wandered on top of Eddie’s own, only to retract as though he’d touched a bramble of thorns. “I mean, that is to say, well, if we make it out of this I want you to know that I…”

He looked Eddie in the eye, and he suddenly froze as though he’d been struck with stage fright. It was irresponsible for him to place the burden of his own emotional well-being on Eddie’s weary shoulders. After all, he’d already suffered so much. It seemed selfish.

“… I’d like to still be friends with you,” he said. “Keep in contact, if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” said Eddie. “I don’t think I’d even be alive anymore if it weren’t for you, honestly.”

“O-oh.” Nicklaus could feel himself blushing. “Well, I mean, I feel as though having you here certainly makes it just a little bit easier being down here.”

“Yeah,” said Eddie. “Yeah, same.”

Nicklaus cursed himself silently for even considering telling Eddie he had  _ feelings _ for him. He cleared his throat, and stood up from the couch. “Well,” he said, “we should probably get ready for bed, I think.”

“You haven’t finished your--”

“I’m going to,” he said, picking up the take-out box, “just pull out the bed.”

Eddie looked at Nicklaus quizzically, but he just shrugged. “Alright then,” he said, grabbing the tray Sybil had brought their dinner down on. He tucked the empty box under the tray’s lid, and shut it. Nicklaus, meanwhile, was sitting on the floor, facing away from Eddie as he shoveled the rest of his meal into his mouth. There had been enough incidents of Sybil “forgetting” to bring down meals, sometimes for more than 24 hours. Such an inconsistent meal schedule was hell on his digestive system and his state of mind.

He ate until he felt like he couldn’t eat anymore, and closed the box. He reached for the tray, slipped the remains under the tray lid, and went as far as he could towards the door before he set it down to be picked up for the next morning. It was probably a bad idea to stuff his face with Chinese food before bed, but whatever he had to do to avoid making a fool of himself more than he already had, he’d do it.

Eddie had already removed the couch cushions and tossed them aside onto the floor. He grabbed a hold of the handle for the bed, and pulled it out as it unfolded like a frog who hunched up before leaping into the air. He set the supporting bar onto the floor, and sat down on the bed. “You want the television on, or…?”

“That’s not necessary,” said Nicklaus.

“‘Kay,” said Eddie, and he picked up the remote off of the floor and switched it off. He looked back to Nicklaus, who was facing away from him, sitting on the floor. He shrugged, and got up off the bed and went into the bathroom.

Nicklaus could hear the sink faucet turn on and Eddie brushing his teeth. He made his way to the fold-out bed, and sat on the edge. The couch wasn’t always down there; when he’d first gotten here, he had to sleep in the dog crate, and once he was shackled to the wall, he and Eddie would sleep together on the floor. Eddie had let him press against him, hold onto him, without complaint, and this simple act of kindness planted the seeds of adoration in Nicklaus’ heart. This could very well be the last night he’d be able to sleep next to him, but also the last night he’d be in this godforsaken room. It was a bittersweet feeling.

When Eddie came out of the bathroom, Nicklaus went in, the chains on their ankles clinking together as they passed. Nicklaus grabbed his toothbrush, applied the paste, and wet the brush under the faucet for a second before he twisted the knob off and brushed. He spat, he gargled water and spat it out again, and turned on the sink again. Splashing the warm water on his face, he took breaths in between washing it and letting his beard soak. With his eyes closed, he groped for a hand towel and patted his face dry, and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

The lack of sunlight for the past couple of months had turned his skin pale, but as he looked at himself in the mirror, he felt as though he were looking at a ghost. He looked so tired, and his hair and beard were growing unruly again, making him look like a mad hermit. His soft blue eyes were underlined with grayish bags, and he looked far too old. He thought he’d aged fairly gracefully before he wound up down here, but as he studied himself, his hair appeared grayer than it had before. He frowned. He didn’t consider himself a vain man, but Ichiro had always said he was handsome. When he was with Ichiro, he felt this handsomeness radiate off of him like sunshine. Without him, clouds of doubt rolled in, casting a shadow on that self-confidence. Down here, where there was not even the faintest glimpse of sunshine, he felt repulsive. Even if Eddie  _ were _ interested in men, why on earth would he take interest in a scruffy old dog like Nicklaus?

He sighed, and hung up the hand towel before he turned off the light and left. He crawled onto the bed on the opposite side of where Eddie sat, and lay down. He rest his hands over his stomach, and stared at the ceiling.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?” Eddie asked.

“When you escape,” said Nicklaus, “and you’re back together with your daughter, what’s the first thing you think you’ll do?”

Eddie went quiet as he contemplated for a moment, until he arrived on an answer. “I think when I get out, I’ll probably just stay by Emmy for a while,” he said. “Make sure I won’t ever be separated from her again.”

“She’s a lucky girl, then, to have a father like you,” he said.

“You think so?” Eddie asked, turning back to look at Nicklaus. He sounded unsure.

Nicklaus smiled at him. “I know so,” he said.

Eddie nodded solemnly. “Thanks, Nick,” he said. “You’re one of the good ones.”

“Good ones?” Nicklaus asked. “One of the good ones of  _ what, _ I wonder?”

Eddie had a look on his face like someone recalling a distant but painful memory almost forgotten. “People,” he said.

Nicklaus’ smile faded into a look of mild confusion. “I see,” he said quietly.

Eddie turned back away, and Nicklaus became acutely aware that the distance between the two of them was not less than three feet, but light years. He wasn’t sure he could possibly reach Eddie, in his dark corner of the universe, the center of his being a collapsed star turned into a black hole. He wanted to reach him, to heal him and stop him from hurting, but he knew this was impossible. He turned over on his side, away from Eddie and facing the door, and thinking what it would be like to step outside of it.

___________________________________________________________________________________

I-83 was almost completely empty through the combination of the sky spewing out a constant barrage of hard, heavy rain and it being 1 in the morning. The only vehicles in sight were the slumbering 18-wheelers on both shoulders, and a black Mercedes heading north. It continued that way, staying in the right lane, until it approached a stretch untouched by the streetlamps and thick with trees on either side. The Mercedes pulled over onto the shoulder, and the headlights shut off, throwing the road into darkness again.

Brandon emerged from the driver’s side, and Sybil from the passenger’s. They rounded the car and met at the back. Brandon popped the trunk, and he lifted the hood to reveal the blue roll of tarp. He turned to Sybil, and nodded, rain dribbling down his face. Sybil nodded back, and Brandon pulled one end of the roll out, stepping back until Sybil could get a hold of the other end. They carried the tarp over into the trees, away from the view of the road.

They stopped briefly for Brandon to pull out his mini-flashlight out of his jacket and turn it on. The light from the flashlight grazed among the trees, and he stopped when his light illuminated a patch of ground that sloped downwards. He held the flashlight between his teeth to relieve Sybil’s share of the weight, and the crab-walked to the edge. Brandon peered over the edge, and the creek at the bottom of the hill glimmered under the light, as it ran thick with mud and debris.

“Here,” said Brandon. “Put it down.”

Sybil nodded, and the both of them lowered the rolled tarp onto the wet earth. They both worked to undo the ropes holding the package together, and unrolled it until the now icy corpse of Father James Richards was exposed to the air.

Brandon handed Sybil the flashlight as he reached into his pocket, and pulled out a pair of gloves. He slipped them on, looking almost irritated as he tugged them back snug on his hands. With his gloves on, he flexed his fingers, and approached the corpse.

“You need help?” Sybil asked.

“I got it,” he said, laying his hands on Father Richards’ side. He grabbed the sleeve of Richards’ shirt, and flipped him over. He rolled him down, and gave one last forceful shove. He stood back upright as he watched the priest’s body flop and jerk over rocks and twigs, until it splashed down into the overflowing stream, momentarily disappearing under the opaque, brown water and then resurfacing again. His hair, back and bare ass bobbed to the top, and floated down with the current. Brandon and Sybil watched as he was carried downstream, until he sank out of view. Satisfied with their work, the two of them returned to the Mercedes with their tarp, and got back onto the road and back home.

Richards was swept downhill, eventually halted when his foot got snagged on the craggy bottom of the stream as the ground leveled out. For the rest of the night he would stay there, water rushing past him, long after the rain stopped not an hour after he’d been dumped. The flow of the stream eased gradually, so by morning it was no longer the violent torrent that had whisked him off, but a steady flow cutting through the forest.

He was undisturbed for about a few hours, aside from the minnows that nibbled on his nose, fingers, and penis. The sun continued to rise and climb in the sky, and it warmed the air, drinking up the moisture. A crow swooped down from a tree branch, and perched on a jutting stone on the stream’s bank. Inquisitive creature that she was, she tilted her head, and hopped as close to him as she could without going into the water. He was still slightly out of reach, however. She nipped at his hair, trying to get a hold of it so perhaps she could adjust its position so it might be easier for her to reach. She’d nearly succeeded before she heard the sounds of something tromping through the woods, and she flew off, not eager to fight off what sounded like a much larger predator for a meal.  She did, however, perch high up in a nearby tree and watched, simply out of curiosity.

“I’m bored!”

“Shut up.”

“I’m bored and I’m hot and it’s hot and I’m tired!”

“God, you whine like such a  _ girl. _ ”

“I am  _ not _ a girl!” the young boy stamped his feet in frustration, falling behind as the older boy walked ahead. “You’re  _ gay! _ ”

“ _ You’re _ gay,” said the older boy in retaliation, lazily hitting the trunk of a tree with a stick. “Besides, I bet you don’t even know what that means.”

“I know what it means!” the younger boy protested.

“Nuh-uh!”

“Yes-huh!”

“Then what does it mean, numb-nuts?” the older boy asked, arms akimbo, still holding onto his stick. “Can you tell me that?”

“Yeah, it means you’re  _ stupid! _ ”

The older boy sputtered as he laughed, and he doubled over.

“What?” the younger boy asked. “What’s so funny?”

“That’s not what gay means, you retard!” the older boy said. “It means you kiss  _ men. _ ”

The younger boy’s anger quickly melted, and instead he looked puzzled. “I kiss dad,” he said. “And you kiss dad too.”

“No, I mean, you kiss men  _ other _ than your dad,” said the older boy.

“Like Grandpa Phil?”

“Ugh, forget it,” the older boy said, and was about to throw his stick into the stream below them when he noticed something floating in it. “What the hell?”

“I’m gonna tell mom you said that,” said the younger boy. “You’re not allowed to say the H-word.”

“Shut up, Cameron!” the older boy hissed. “There’s something in the water.”

Cameron stopped mid-stride, nearly losing his balance. “What is it?”

The older boy slid down the incline, balancing himself by keeping one hand on the muddy slope. He wiped the mess onto his shirt, and crept closer towards the stream.

“Max?” Cameron asked, as he approached the edge of the slope. “What is it?”

Max looked back at Cameron, his cocksure attitude gone completely. “I don’t know,” he said. “The water’s all muddy. I think it’s a person.”

“That’s not funny, Max,” said Cameron, his voice trembling. “I’m serious!”

Max didn’t respond. He leaned over the bank of the stream, and poked at the black fabric of the dead man’s shirt, causing the clump of hair and the tops of the dead man’s ass cheeks to rock back, and then float back into place.

“Max,” Cameron asked in a meek voice, “is… is that a dead guy?”

The older boy stood upright, and braced his feet as he used the stick he was holding to prod into the water, poking around until he felt the underside of the body. He positioned his stick so the tip pressed against the shoulder, and with a grunt of exertion, he pushed it up and over until it flipped, making a heavy splash. The corpse now floated on its back, wearing nothing but a black shirt with a clergy’s collar and a pair of shoes. Max stood paralyzed as he looked into the face of the dead man, with his one, fish-nibbled eye dangling out of its socket, his distended jaw slack as though in a scream of pain, and an upside-down cross carved into his forehead. Max began teetering where he stood, until his knees buckled under him and he hit the ground as Cameron screamed and screamed, and a crow called out as it flew off.

___________________________________________________________________________________

The cell phone on the nightstand buzzed to life and rattled towards the edge as it blared out the Twilight Zone theme, and Sean Nanahara snorted as he was jolted awake, sitting upright at his desk. He looked over that desk, and the realization hit him like a bag of wet sand. He groaned. “Diane,” he called out, “would you please get me the phone?”

Diane trotted to the nightstand, and stood up on her back legs so that her eyes were level with the surface. She reached out to knock the phone off with her paw, and managed to bring it close enough so that she could grab it with her mouth. She turned around, her curly tail wagging happily as she rested her front paws on the seat of his chair, holding the phone gently in her mouth. Nanahara took it from her as she snuffled and snorted happily, and looked at the caller. It was Burton. He answered it, and turned on the speakerphone. “Burton?”

“We’ve got another one, Nanahara.”

Nanahara pushed himself back in his chair and stood up. “Talk to me.”

“It’s bad,” said Burton, “I mean, I could explain it, but… I think you need to see this for yourself.”

“Exactly how bad are we talking, here?” Nanahara asked.

There was a pause. “Bad,” Burton said simply. 

Nanahara clenched his jaw. “Text me your location,” he said. “I’ll meet you there.”

“Yeah, okay,” said Burton. “Also, you might want to bring your little therapist along. The ones that found it… well, just get down here, okay?”

“On my way,” said Nanahara. He hung up, and grabbed a hold of his keys, his badge, and his coat jacket. He wouldn’t be wearing it, but he didn’t feel like dumping out his pockets. He whistled for Diane, who sprung up and followed him out the door, her tongue curling up in her mouth in a dopey, canine smile. Down the stairs and out the building’s front he went, holding up the remote clicker and pressing the button down. The car chirped and the headlights blinked in response, and Nanahara opened the back door, tossing his jacket onto the far seat. He then opened up the driver’s side door, and Diane hopped into the car before him, climbing over to sit on the passenger’s side expectantly. He sat down and checked his texts for the location. Once he’d figured out his route, he pulled out, and made his way to Old Belfast Road.

He switched the radio on just to have some noise while he drove. He flipped through stations idly until he stumbled onto Madonna’s “Material Girl.” Good enough, he thought. The music helped him organize his thoughts.

It’d been more than four months since he had initially been assigned to this investigation, and he was originally brought on after the bodies of a woman and two of her children had been found in a landfill. The father was nowhere to be found, and the oldest daughter had managed to unwittingly avoid the massacre by sneaking off to a friend’s. The deaths were thought to be connected to the deaths of two other women and the disappearance of another in the span of about six months prior to that, and so far he thought this was a reasonable assumption. Then there were five more deaths in the months afterwards, three women and two men, as well as two suspicious disappearances of two adult men in that same timeframe, though one of those men had an entire separate investigation devoted to finding him. That came to 14 people either missing or dead due to one person. 15 now, at least, and they still didn’t even have a suspect. His superiors doubted that all the deaths were even connected. They were too disjointed, they’d said, there wasn’t any sort of pattern at all. Ages of the victims ranged from children to middle-aged adults. Some were out and about when they vanished, and others were killed in their homes and dragged out elsewhere. The only real connection seemed to be the bodies were often mutilated post-mortem. Nanahara was sure that these murders were being done by the same person. He couldn’t say why, though, and telling his superiors that it was intuition wasn’t good enough. Hopefully, there might be some evidence to help piece this all together.

By the time he’d made it onto the scene, there were already several cop cars parked in front of a dust-brown house at the end of the road, crowding the area so much that many of the cars rested on the lawn out front, as the driveway no longer had any room. Nahara parked a bit further up the road, and rolled down the window on the passenger’s side. “Stay,” he said to Diane. He got out of the car and as he approached he noticed one officer sitting on the ground against the bumper of his squad car, holding his head in one hand. Kelley, he thought. That was Officer Kelley. Still a rookie; his face looked as though it were turning green.

“Nanahara!”

He turned and saw Detective Burton jogging to him, and he tilted his head up in acknowledgement. Burton stopped short of him, and Nanahara took silent note of his unwashed black hair and growing stubble, as well as the incongruous Hawaiian shirt he wore. He braced himself.

“What happened here?” Nanahara asked.

“Body’s been found in a stream,” said Burton. “Looks like it was there all night. Come with me.”

Burton beckoned Nanahara to follow him, and they walked past the house and towards the woods. “Victim is a male in his early 30’s. Not sure what race yet. Mixed, probably. Suffered multiple stab wounds in the neck, chest and eye socket, and his jaw’s broken on top of that.”

“You made it sound a lot worse over the phone,” Nanahara replied.

“It’s not so much the  _ way _ he died, as to who he was and how he was found,” said Burton, stepping over a fallen tree branch. “And  _ who _ found him.”

“Somebody with a lot of influence, then?” Nanahara asked.

“You could say that,” said Burton. He stooped under the yellow crime scene tape. “I think it might be better if you see for yourself.”

Nanahara ducked under the tape after him, and saw Burton already standing over the body in question, covered with a white sheet. Warily, he approached the body, and squatted down beside it. He held the edge of the sheet between his fingers, and pulled the sheet back revealing the dead man’s face.

“Oh,” he said, sucking in a sharp breath. “I see.”

“I’ve been doing this job for almost 30 goddamned years, and not once have I come across something like  _ this _ ,” said Burton. He reached into his pants pocket, and pulled out a pack of nicotine gum. “Worse, he was found with his pants cut off and no underwear. Murphy started  _ crying, _ Nanahara. I’ve known that man for ten years and not once have I ever seen him cry. Soon as we found this guy, he started signing the cross over himself and whispering about a dozen Hail Mary’s.” He shook out a piece of gum into his palm, and popped it into his mouth. “We’re all pretty spooked by this. Already we got people thinking this was done by Satanists.”

“You think this is our guy?”

“If the evidence hadn’t been washed off, we could have compared it to the samples we got from previous victims,” said Burton. “Just our luck, I guess.”

Nanahara pulled the sheet back over the body’s face. “Who found him?”

“Two kids,” said Burton. “Boys, eight and ten. This guy was dumped in their own backyard.”

“Where are their parents?”

“On their way home. They’re latchkey kids, so nobody else was around. The older one called 911.”

“So where are they?”

Burton jerked his head to the side, indicating in the direction of the EMTs. “You brought the dog along?”

“She’s in the car.”

“Good,” said Burton. “I don’t think you’re going to get anything out of them we haven’t gotten already.”

“Not looking to,” said Nanahara. He stood back up, and made his way back to his car, walking past the ambulance. Two young boys sat just inside the back, legs dangling off the edge, wrapped in shock blankets as one of the EMTs offered them juice boxes. By the time he reached his car, Diane was wiggling with anticipation. He opened the car door, and she hopped down to the ground and waited until he closed the door before she trotted off in front of him. She approached the rear of the ambulance, and looked up at the boys. Cameron was the first to notice her, lifting his head to give her a numb stare. She hopped onto the edge of the ambulance, and Max flinched as she sat down between them. For a few moments, she just sat there between the boys, and waited. Cameron brought up a cautious hand, and brought it gently down onto Diane’s head, and she wagged her tail as he stroked her fur. The boy soon threw his arms around the dog. She offered no resistance, and licked the boy’s ear, eliciting a weak giggle from him. Max reached out to her, and gently rubbed one of her velvety ears between his fingers. The EMT regarded the dog with mild surprise, but as she saw Nanahara approach, she gave him a nod of acknowledgement.

“How are you guys holding up?”

The two boys looked up at Nanahara, their expressions still glum. “I’m fine,” Max muttered.

“Is this your dog?” asked Cameron.

“Yes,” said Nanahara. “Her name’s Diane.”

“Is it okay if we pet her?” Cameron asked, his arms still wrapped around her.

“Of course,” said Nanahara.

“Thanks,” said Cameron. “She’s really nice.”

“She’s a pug,” Max piped up. “Cory Baxter has a pug. His isn’t all black, though.”

“I know she’s a pug,” Cameron retorted. “I’m not stupid.”

Max didn’t reply to this. Instead, he looked up at Nanahara. “Who’re you?”

“I’m Agent Sean Nanahara,” he said. He reached into his back pocket, and pulled out his badge, letting the flap fall open. “I’m with the FBI.”

“Cool,” Max said in awe.

“What’s the FBI?” asked Cameron. “Are they like detectives?”

“You could say that,” said Nanahara.

“They’re like, the  _ best _ detectives,” said Max. “They solve all the really important cases, and they work for the Federal government.”

Cameron blinked. “I don’t know what that is.”

“Like, they work for the President,” Max explained.

“Well,” said Nanahara with a chuckle, “not exac--”

“Really?” Cameron asked, his eyes going wide. He looked up at Nanahara. “Have you met the President?”

“I can’t say that I have,” Nanahara said. He rubbed the back of his head bashfully. “But maybe someday I will.”

“The President’s probably really busy,” said Max. “You know, fighting terrorism and making speeches and stuff.”

“Oh,” Cameron said quietly. He looked as though he were contemplating this for a second, and he looked back up to Nanahara. “Do you know why somebody would do that to that guy?”

Nanahara’s expression turned somber. “I don’t really know,” he said. “Some people do terrible things just because they can.”

“Are there a lot of bad guys that do that? Just hurt people and throw them in a river?”

“He didn’t hurt him,” Max said. He clutched his blanket tighter around him. “He  _ killed _ him.”

Cameron hugged Diane tighter, and gave her a gentle squeeze. He looked back up at Nanahara with pleading eyes. “But you’re gonna catch him, right?”

Nanahara nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “We’ll catch him.”

“Good,” said Cameron. “I hate him.”

A little blue Toyota pulled up in front of the house, and lurched to a halt. A woman came out the driver’s side, and walked at an increasingly fast pace until she saw the boys sitting inside of the ambulance. She broke out into a run, kicking her heels off her feet as she opened her arms wide. The boys saw her, threw off their blankets and simultaneously called out “MOM!” as they ran to meet her, all three of them colliding in a group hug. She kissed them on their foreheads, and held them tight.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“We’re fine, Mom,” said Max.

“Thank goodness,” she said. “Thank goodness you’re alright.”

Nanahara approached her with a casual stride, and Diane leaped off the back of the ambulance and hung around his ankles. “I’m sorry that you got caught up in the middle of all this, ma’am.”

She looked up at him. “Oh, no no… it’s fine,” she said. “And you are…?”

Cameron cut Nanahara off before he could answer. “He’s a detective for the President!”

“What?” The boy’s mother looked at Nanahara in confusion.

“I’m Agent Sean Nanahara,” he said, and presented his badge. “I’m with the FBI.”

“Oh!” she said. She stood up, letting go of the two boys. “Max, would you take Cameron inside while I talk with Agent… what did you say your last name was again?”

“Nanahara,” he repeated.

“Nanahara,” she echoed with a nod. “Please.”

“Okaaayy,” Max groaned, and tugged on his brother’s arm. “C’mon, Cam, let’s go.”

“Aw, man,” said Cameron. As his brother lead him off, he turned back and waved at Nanahara. “Bye, Mr. Nanahara! Bye, Diane!”

Diane let out a friendly bark in response, and watched as the boys went inside. The boys’ mother watched them go as well, and hugged herself as she looked back to Nanahara. “I got here as quickly as I could,” she said. “Are my boys alright?”

“They seem to be holding up well,” said Nanahara. “Though, finding someone like that is never easy for anyone.”

“No, I… I can’t imagine it would be,” she said. “Do you know what happened?”

“We’re still figuring that out,” he said. “You happen to see or hear anything suspicious last night, Mrs.…?”

“Hooper,” she said. “Grace Hooper. And no, I didn’t. I went to bed around ten o’clock and fell asleep not long after that. I certainly didn’t see anything by the time I got up and went to work… if I had, I would have called the police myself.”

“I don’t doubt that you would,” he said, “but it never hurts to ask.”

“Do you know who it was?”

“The victim or the perpetrator?”

Grace blinked as she processed the question. “Both, I guess.”

He shrugged. “Don’t know quite yet. The victim, we’ll probably figure out soon enough. The perpetrator… well, with luck, we’ll find them too.”

“We  _ will _ find him.”

Nanahara turned his head and saw Burton walk up from behind him. Burton’s expression was set in grim determination as he spoke up again. “It’s only a matter of time before we find this sicko and put him away.”

“Thank goodness,” said Grace. “With all those murders on the TV lately, it really makes you feel unsafe, you know?”

“I know,” said Burton. “That’s why we’re busting our asses; so good people like you can sleep at night without having to worry about psychos like this guy.” He gave Grace a cocksure smile, the kind of smile that belonged on the face of a seasoned Hollywood action star, like he could turn to some unseen camera to the side with a sly wink. “So don’t you worry. We’ll handle this.”

Grace sighed. “Good. That’s good. That’s what I needed to hear.”

Burton nodded. “Just doing my job, ma’am.” He turned back around, and gestured towards an officer. “Gutierrez, would you mind taking a statement from Mrs. Hooper here while I have a word with Nanahara?”

“Right away, Detective,” said Gutierrez. She ushered Mrs. Hooper aside, as Burton edged in towards Nanahara.

“I wanna get that body into the medical examiner as soon as possible,” Burton said in a hushed voice as he and Nanahara walked away from the scene. “If it turns out that all our evidence got washed away in the rain…”

“It wasn’t,” said Nanahara.

Burton gave him an odd look. “What the hell makes you so sure about that?”

“The bruises on his chin,” said Nanahara. “There were four on the left side of his jaw and one larger one on the right side. They looked like they were left by somebody’s fingertips, didn’t they?”

“Did they?” Burton asked.

“The position of the bruises looked very much like they’d been left by somebody grabbing the victim’s chin,” Nanahara explained. “We figure out the size of the hand that left those marks, we might just have more information to go on.”

“Still,” said Burton, “if we had something like DNA, we could at least compare it to the samples we had on previous victims, maybe find out for sure if this is our guy…”

“I think it is.”

“Based on what?”

Nanahara stopped, and turned back to face Burton, a sly smile breaking out over his face. He shrugged. “Call it intuition,” he said.

“Yeah, well, ‘intuition’ ain’t evidence,” Burton said. “You’re gonna have to have a lot more than ‘intuition’ to get this maniac.”

“I’m well aware, Detective,” said Nanahara. “You can gloat plenty if I turn out to be wrong.” He whistled, and Diane ran to catch up at his heels. “I’ll see you at the morgue.” He walked back to his car and opened the door as Diane jumped in. He gave a friendly wave to Burton before he got into his car, and drove off. 

______________________________________________________________________________

By the time Burton had arrived at the hospital morgue, Nanahara was already there, standing outside of the brushed steel doors with his hands clasped together in front of him. Nanahara looked up as Burton walked down the hall to meet him.

“There you are,” Nanahara said in a friendly manner. “Find out anything new?”

“We got an ID on the body,” said Burton. “What about here?”

“Sid’s working on it,” said Nanahara. He pushed the door open behind him. “Care to check in?”

“That’s why I’m here,” said Burton.

“After you, then.”

Burton stepped inside, and shuddered. He hated the morgue for a myriad of reasons, but the temperature was always the first thing that sprang to mind. He should have brought a jacket, he thought. The morgue was spacious and almost empty, all white walls and brushed steel cabinets. The cadaver they’d found was lying on the examination table, his eyes closed and his jaw was no longer askew. The medical examiner, a short, dark man with glasses, looked up from his work, and waved a gloved hand smeared with fluids as he flashed a bright smile. “There you are!” he said. “I was wondering when you two were going to show up.”

“Bahl,” said Burton with a nod of acknowledgement. “Got some info on that stiff you got there.”

“Oh, you do?” he immediately perked up. “Like what?”

“Who he is, for starters,” said Burton. He reached into his breast pocket, and pulled out a photograph between two fingers. He showed it to Bahl, who leaned over to peer at it. “One Father James Richards, age 32. Reported missing last evening when he didn’t show up for evening services at the Saint Ursula’s.”

“Makes sense,” said Bahl. “He’s only been dead for about 18 hours or so.”

“Anything you can tell us about how he died, Sid?” Nanahara asked. Nanahara always seemed to prefer to refer to everybody by their first names. Burton had been called “Neil” one too many times before he told Nanahara to knock it off. It felt weirdly personal.

“Glad you asked,” said Bahl, brimming with far too much enthusiasm for Burton’s comfort. “Well, Father Richards here suffered multiple stab wounds; four in the chest, one in the neck and another right into his brain through the left eye socket. All of the stab wounds are on his left side, actually.”

“Meaning our murderer is right-handed,” said Nanahara.

“Not that that narrows it down very much,” said Burton.

“No,” said Nanahara, “but it matches our previous victims and it’s certainly something to keep in mind.”

“The stab in the eye was the fatal one,” Bahl continued. He cleared his throat, and indicated towards the wound with a gloved finger. “At the angle it went in, it would have killed him pretty much instantly. The neck and chest wounds would have done the job, but he would have been alive for longer, pretty much drowning in his own blood, since his left lung was punctured twice.”

“And the neck wound, of course,” said Nanahara.

“Of course,” said Bahl.

“What kind of weapon are we looking at here?” Burton asked. “Those wounds don’t look clean enough to be from a knife.”

“The puncture wounds are too large, yes,” said Bahl, and he prodded one with his index finger. “Notice the width and the shape. I’m guessing scissor blades. Pretty safe bet.”

“What about the broken jaw?” Nanahara asked.

“I was getting to that,” said Bahl. “That’s something that stood out to me. That one is postmortem trauma. The jawbone is shattered as opposed to being splintered, not to mention there’s none of the signs of the healing process.”

“Interesting,” said Nanahara.

“Were you able to get any kind of evidence off of him?” Burton asked.

“Well,” said Bahl, “most of it was washed away, but I managed to find some traces of semen in his stomach and colon… the latter of which experienced some, ah,  _ severe trauma. _ ”

“Trauma?” Nanahara asked.

“Anal fissures,” Bahl explained. “From forced penetration.”

“Jesus Christ,” Burton muttered.

“But it’s going to take a while to compare these samples to the previous ones we’ve collected,” Bahl continued without missing a beat, “and even then, the DNA could very well end up too damaged to be sure.”

Burton doubled over, and rested his hands on his knees as he blinked away the spots that started to dance in his vision. His head started to swim. Nanahara cast him a concerned glance, and cleared his throat. “And what of the bruises on his chin?” he asked.

“Ah,” said Bahl, “so you  _ did _ notice them.”

“Hard not to notice bruises that look like they were left by someone’s hand,” said Nanahara.

“It’s funny that you mention them,” said Bahl, “because there’s more handprint bruises on the back of his thighs.”

Nanahara quirked an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“And even more interesting is that they don’t match the ones on the chin.”

Burton jerked his head up. He suddenly didn’t feel sick anymore. “Wait, what?”

“They’re different sizes,” said Bahl. “The handprints on his thighs are larger than the one on his chin. I measured them, even.”

“Show me,” said Burton, and he stood up straight.

“What, you want me to flip him over?”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Nanahara.

“Oh, good,” said Bahl with a sigh of relief, “because I got the…” he trailed off as Nanahara started to pull a pair of latex gloves out of their box on the tray table. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to examine the bruises,” Nanahara answered simply.

“But you don’t have to-” Bahl cut himself off as Nanahara pushed the corpse onto its side. Nanahara peered closer at the purple, hand-shaped bruises that marked the dead man’s thighs. With a feather touch, he overlaid his free hand on top of one of those marks.

“Guy’s got big hands,” Nanahara noted. “Strong grip, too.”

“I had taken photos, you know,” Bahl finally blurted out. “That really wasn’t necessary.”

“Nothing like being able to see it for yourself, though,” Nanahara said. He lowered the body back onto the table, gently, as though setting down a glass sculpture. He then moved towards the bodies’ head, and examined its chin. He gently pressed his fingers against the bruises, so that the tips lined up perfectly. He held the man’s jaw in his hands for a moment, and then pulled his hand away. “You’re right. They don’t match.”

“I mean, considering I just told you that and all,” said Bahl. “But yes, the fingerprints left on the chin are much smaller than those on the back of the victim’s thighs.”

“They look almost feminine, don’t they?” Nanahara mused aloud.

“I suppose,” said Bahl. “I just figured they were made with a smaller hand.”

Burton’s eyes widened as it hit him. “Are you saying that our guy has got himself  _ an accomplice? _ ”

“Looks like it,” said Nanahara. “We were thinking about this all wrong, assuming this was all one man. His pattern seemed so predictable up until he started to deviate from it, and he’s been deviating further ever since.” He looked back at Burton, with a sly smirk on his face. “It makes more sense if you factor in that somewhere along the way he picked up a partner in crime.”

“So now we got a regular Bonnie and Clyde on our hands,” Burton said. “That’s just swell.”

“We’re going to need to file a report on this,” said Nanahara. “This is the breakthrough we’ve been waiting for, Burton! We’re finally onto something!” He shook his fist with triumph, his grin illuminating his face.

Burton gave Nanahara a wry smirk. “At least one of us is in a good mood.”

“Thanks for the help, Sid,” said Nanahara. “You’re the best.”

“Just doing my job,” Bahl said with a shrug.

“And you’re the best at doing it,” said Nanahara, pointing a finger gun at Bahl. “Keep at it. Let me know when those test results come back.”

Bahl let out a bashful laugh. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll do that.”

Nanahara turned back to Burton. “I’m headed back to the station,” he said. “You coming with me?”

“Where else would I be going?” Burton asked.

“I dunno,” said Nanahara as he headed for the door, “out to lunch, maybe?”

“Buddy,” said Burton, “the shit I’ve seen today, I think I’m gonna skip lunch.”

______________________________________________________________________________

The precinct was always busy, a haze of murmured conversation, moving bodies and ringing phones. Burton and Nanahara weaved their way through the bustle, heading for the homicide division when Nanahara came to a halt. Burton bumped up against him, sending Nanahara stumbling forward a step.

“Sorry,” Burton mumbled. “I wasn’t looking where I was--”

Nanahara shushed him, holding two fingers up in Burton’s direction as he stared ahead. Burton titled his head to the side to peek over Nanahara’s shoulder.

Chief Ernie Stiles was standing with his arms akimbo, talking with a tall, dark-haired man that Burton didn’t recognize. Stiles shifted his weight and smoothed his mustache down, and the tall man spoke, posture rigid and stiff. Nanahara walked closer, his hands in his pockets and his eyes looking upward, as though there was something particularly interesting on the ceiling.

“Look, it’s not like we’ve stopped looking,” said Stiles. “We haven’t gotten any new leads in a while, there’s only so much we can do--”

“Our government is losing its patience with your lack of progress, Chief Stiles” said the man, pronouncing each word as sharply as possible, his tongue stabbing every “s” sound like a knife. “Your incompetence could have already killed him.”

“ _ Our _ incompetence?” Stiles shot back. “We are already overworked enough as it is, and  _ you _ come traipsing in here, all the way over from Düsseldorf or wherever, to bust my ass about a guy who just up and disappeared without a trace?”

“Surely, there must be a trace of some kind--”

“Yeah, well, maybe  _ you _ can find it,  _ Mr _ . Vogel,” Stiles pronounced the man’s name as though it tasted bitter on his tongue, “because all Polanski managed to find was a dead end. All the tips we got were false flags or lead nowhere. You think you can do better? Well, be my guest.”

“Chief?”

Both Stiles and Vogel turned to look to the source of the interruption. Nanahara stood in front of them, offering a bashful shrug and a smile. “I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?”

“Oh, uh,” Stiles looked to Vogel, then back to Nanahara, “sorry, I was just having a chat with Inspector Vogel here. I don’t think we’re gonna be too much longer, if you can just wait until we’re finished.”

“Yes,” Vogel said, and he squinted his eyes. The man had a face like an old gravestone, cold, weathered and solemn. “I doubt I’ll be keeping Chief Stiles much longer.”

“Are you here about the Messmer case?” Nanahara asked.

“Why else would I be here?” Vogel asked, his voice dripping with contempt.

“Hey now, there’s no need to be rude,” Nanahara said, holding up his hands and lowering them gently. “We’re all overworked and stressed out here.” He offered Vogel his hand. “Agent Sean Nanahara, FBI. And you are?”

Vogel looked at Nanahara’s hand as though he’d been presented with a wriggling leech for a brief moment, before he let out a sigh of resignation. “Inspector Hubert Vogel,” he said taking Nanahara’s hand and giving it a gentle shake. “BPK.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” said Nanahara, with a slight bow of his head. “Sorry that it couldn’t be under more pleasant circumstances.”

Stiles scoffed and shook his head. Vogel turned his head slightly in his direction. “I assume,” said Vogel, “that you are also working on the Messmer case then?”

“No,” said Nanahara, “but I think our cases might be connected…”

“You don’t have any proof of that,” said Stiles.

“Not yet,” said Nanahara. “But perhaps--”

“Hey, buddy,” Burton finally spoke up and clasped a hand on Nanahara’s shoulder. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Can it wait?” Nanahara asked. “I don’t want to waste Inspector Vogel’s time and wanted to ask him some questions...”

“May I ask what case you are working on, exactly?” Vogel interrupted.

Burton flinched, and removed his hand from Nanahara’s shoulder. Nanahara smoothed down the wrinkle on his shirt, and focused his attention back on Vogel. “We’re investigating an unusual string of murders,” he explained. “And there’s three missing people who I think may be connected. Mister Messmer is just  _ one _ of them.””

Burton sighed and crossed his arms. Nanahara pretended not to notice.

“Are you suggesting that Mister Messmer was  _ involved _ with these murders?”

“No, no, not involved as in being an  _ accomplice, _ if you think that’s what I’m getting at,” said Nanahara. “But involved in that I think his disappearance is directly connected with the murders.”

“You are saying he is a victim, then,” said Vogel.

“I think it is a strong possibility, yes.”

“Then you are telling me that he is dead.”

Nanahara winced. “Not necessarily...”

“This is a waste of my time,” Vogel grumbled, “and I have work to do.” He began to walk past Nanahara, only to be blocked by his outstretched arm.

“Wait, just wait!” Nanahara cried out. “Hear me out!”

“Nanahara,” Stiles started, but was cut off as Nanahara continued.

“There was a murder of a funeral home director, Catalina Crickett and two of her daughters back in February,” he said breathlessly. “Their bodies were found in a landfill, and the crime scene was discovered by the eldest daughter in the family. She’d snuck out the night of the murder to hang out with friends, and had confirmed her father, Thomas Crickett, was also home. Samples of his blood were found on the scene, but no body has been recovered--”

“Where are you going with this?” Vogel asked.

“Two weeks later, Nicklaus Messmer goes missing after leaving a bar in Fells Point,” Nanahara continued. “Eyewitness accounts state that he seemed extremely inebriated, he had trouble walking out the door. He was headed back to his hotel but never made it there. That  _ same _ night, in that same part of town, Joshua Stenberg is last seen stumbling home from a  _ different _ bar, and disappears. They seem unconnected until you realize that Stenberg was a student of Thomas Crickett, who was a professor of Psychology at Towson University,  _ and _ he was the boyfriend of Sybil Womack, a previous murder victim whose body was found almost burnt to a crisp not far from her dorms.”

Vogel blinked. “And your point?”

“Don’t you think it’s a little weird that your guy goes missing the same night as somebody who has not one, but  _ two _ connections to these murders?” Nanahara asked, emphasizing his point with pinched fingers, jabbing them in the air.

“I suppose there is a possibility of some connection,” Vogel said. “But do you have any other evidence to support this hypothesis of yours?”

Nanahara pursed his lips and retracted his hand. “That,” he said, taking a sharp breath through gritted teeth, “that, I don’t have yet.”

“I see,” said Vogel. “Well, Agent Nanahara, perhaps if you can find some proof that our two cases are connected, we might have reason to actually talk.” He flashed a quick, sardonic smile, and though it was there for less than a second, it looked unnatural on his graying face. “Good day.” He brushed Nanahara aside, and paused for a moment, looking at Burton. “And who are you?”

“Detective Neil Burton,” Burton said, as casually as he could, leaning against the wall. “I’m working with Nanahara.”

Vogel looked Burton up and down, from his brightly-colored Margaritaville-themed Hawaiian shirt to his khakis and loafers, back up to the badge hanging around Burton’s neck. He gave a contemptuous sneer. “Change your shirt,” he said. “I’m embarrassed for you.” And with that, he walked off towards the front of the precinct as Burton stood back upright, sputtering as he struggled to think of a comeback.

“At least I’m wearing some goddamned color, Lurch!” he shouted back. “Go back to the Addams Family, why doncha?”

Vogel looked back briefly over his shoulder to roll his eyes, not breaking his stride. Burton tapped his foot and smoothed down his hair, still flustered.

“Jesus, what an asshole,” said Burton. “Can you believe Frankenstein over there? Who pissed down his chimney?”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice,” said Stiles. “Just avoid him. He’s already chewed Polanski out plenty over the Messmer case. Mentioned the tabloids over in Europe think there’s some kinda cover-up.”

“A cover-up of what?” Burton asked.

“Aw, hell, I don’t know,” said Stiles. He threw up his hands in exasperation, before letting them fall back to his sides. “Like some German chocolate maker’s gonna be a big enough deal to somebody over here to whack him.”

“Assuming that’s what happened,” said Nanahara, staring down the hall as Vogel left through the twin wooden doors.

“Don’t get married to that theory of yours, Nanahara,” said Stiles. “Hell, we still aren’t sure this is all done by one guy.”

“That’s because it’s not,” said Nanahara. “He’s got an accomplice, and it’s a woman.”


	4. Trapped Animals

By the time Sybil brought down breakfast, Eddie found himself wondering if he’d been locked up with the only German in the world that had trouble keeping a straight face.

Nicklaus was almost twitching with nervous energy, covering his mouth with the heel of his hand and drumming his fingers against his cheek as Sybil placed their breakfast tray down in front of them. She hadn’t said a word to them yet. Eddie remained poker-faced, glancing casually from her to the tray, but it was too much for Nick, who squirmed where he sat. Nick’s eyes darted from Sybil, to Eddie, then back to Sybil. Finally, Nick piped up.

“Is something wrong, Mistress?” he asked sweetly. “You haven’t even said ‘good morning.’”

It took all of Eddie’s self-restraint not to give Nick a sharp elbow to the ribs. His tone was too saccharine, thick and sickly sweet like molasses, the corners of his mouth hinting at a smile that looked too sincere. Still, he said nothing, and looked to Sybil for a response.

She sighed. “It’s nothing,” she said. “I just have a busy day ahead of me, is all.”

“Is that so?” Nicklaus asked. The smarm just could not keep from seeping through. Eddie seriously considered kicking him.

“Yeah,” she said. “I’ve got some work to do. You boys take it easy.”

Nicklaus smirked. “And so we will, Mistress,” he said, and bowed his head with a theatrical flourish.

Sybil barely acknowledged this, and simply turned and went back out the door. As soon as the lock clicked, Nicklaus opened the tray, revealing two plates of waffles with coffee and milk. “Looks like our goddess was feeling quite generous this morning,” he said.

“Your mood’s certainly improved,” Eddie noted.

“I suppose it has,” Nicklaus said. He grabbed hold of a plate and a bottle of syrup. “Sleeping on it helped, I think.”

“Oh?” asked Eddie. “How’s that?”

“I had a lot of… contradicting feelings,” said Nicklaus. “I suppose I still do, but the possibility of freedom has overtaken all the others.” 

“Contradicting feelings?” Eddie asked. “About Father Richards?”

“Well… yes, part of it is that,” said Nicklaus. “I wish he did not have to die for us to escape.”

Eddie nodded. “I know… I know. But at least something good can come out of something so horrible.” He patted Nicklaus on the shoulder. “I’m gonna turn on the news. Hopefully, the cops should arrive before we even see anything. Fingers crossed.”

Nicklaus smiled, and leaned sideways until he could knock on the wall.

Eddie picked up the remote and turned on the television. The Today Show was on, and Eddie snorted. “Missed the morning news.”

“We can always wait until noon,” said Nicklaus.

“Mmmm,” Eddie hummed, and started flipping through channels idly.

Nicklaus poured syrup on his waffles, and started eating. “I really should get some of this before I go back home,” he said, mouth partially full as he pointed to his plate with his fork.

“Some of what?” Eddie asked, turning back to look at Nick. “The syrup?”

“The maple syrup, yes,” he said. “I’ve had it before, but it was years ago. A friend of mine brought me a bottle from Vermont, I think.”

“Well, when we get outta here, you can have all the goddamned maple syrup you want,” Eddie chuckled.

“You should eat too,” said Nicklaus. “You wouldn’t want to have your stomach growling during your big dramatic rescue, would you?”

“I suppose not,” said Eddie. He switched the channel to CNN, and carefully poured some of his milk into his coffee as a report on a White House press conference. He stirred it, and took a cautious sip.

The two of them sat together, eating breakfast while the television droned on. Eddie felt as though he wanted to say something, but he’d be damned if he could figure out what. There was a very real possibility of them being rescued within the next few days, and while this was the first time he’d had any shred of hope in a long time, there was still a feeling of dread. He could go home to Emmy, yes, but Zoe and Lucy and Catalina wouldn’t be there. Could he even stand to sleep in that house again, remembering what happened that last night he’d slept there? He suppressed a shudder, and drank more coffee.

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?”

Nicklaus dabbed at his beard with his napkin delicately. “I had a thought, actually, about our escaping.”

Eddie quirked an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“I was wondering,” said Nicklaus, shrinking back, “what do you think might happen if Sybil gets to us before the police do?”

“What exactly do you mean by that?” Eddie asked. He took a cautious sip of his coffee.

“Suppose that she sees the police coming,” he said. “Suppose she hides up in here and holds us hostage. What if she decides she’d rather us die than let go?”

Eddie swallowed his mouthful of coffee with an audible gulp. “Well, uh, I-I’m not entirely sure that would happen--”

“You think so?” There was a hopeful lilt to Nicklaus’ voice.

“I think so,” said Eddie, more firmly this time. “I think the cops would be more cautious, knowing that we’re down here. I don’t think they’d let us get into that situation in the first place.”

Nicklaus shifted uncomfortably. “I hope you’re right.”

“‘Course I’m right,” said Eddie. “I know what I’m talking about. I worked with cops for a while; they got protocol for situations like these just to prevent that sort of thing from happening. So I don’t think you gotta worry about a scenario like that happening, alright, buddy?”

For a few moments, Nicklaus didn’t say anything. He scanned the floor as though there were something particularly interesting in the fibers that he was now picking at. “Alright,” he said. “You’re probably right. I’m worrying over nothing.” He let out a nervous chuckle. “It’s just… well, you know.”

“It’s fine,” said Eddie. “You’re nervous. It’s understandable.”

“You think?” Nicklaus was smirking now. “Yes. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have thought that, really, because we _are_ going to get out of here.”

“Yes, we are.”

“And we _are_ going to go home.”

“Yep.”

“Oh, God,” Nicklaus said, and trembled. “It’s really happening.”

“It certainly is--” said Eddie, and got cut off as Nicklaus wrapped his arms around him, pulling him in and squeezing him tight. Nicklaus buried his face in Eddie’s chest and held him like that for a few moments.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Nicklaus said. “I just feel like I need to hold onto something.”

“That’s alright,” said Eddie. He petted the top of Nicklaus’ head. “You just take all the time you need.”

“Mmmph.” Nicklaus nuzzled into him, and stayed that way, and the tremors in his body dissipated.

With Nicklaus now placated, Eddie could finally relax. He leaned back against the side of the couch, and sipped his coffee, and thought.

Oh, he’d considered the possibility of Sybil getting to them before the cops did, and he came to the conclusion that he’d have to kill her before she could kill them. How he might do that, he wasn’t sure, but he could not allow her to win. He wanted to tell Nick he wouldn’t let it happen; at least, not if he could help it.

_In his mind, he set about constructing their rescue, and pictured him and Nick sitting in the basement, bored out of their minds as usual. A noise from upstairs startled them; loud banging could be heard on the front door. There was shouting, followed by the sound of hurried footfalls from above. Nicklaus started shrieking in fear and excitement, and Eddie grabbed a hold of him and dragged him into the bathroom. He pulled the door closed as much as he could, and Nicklaus started to panic. “What’s the matter, Eddie?”_

_“She might get to us before the cops do,” Eddie explained._

_Nicklaus nodded nervously, though it was obvious he understood. Eddie waited, pushing the door as closed as it could get. There was the sound of metal keys frantically jangling, of locks becoming undone. Eddie sucked in his breath and braced himself against the door._

_“Get in the tub,” he said to Nicklaus._

_“But, Eddie,” Nick tried to protest, because of course he would. “What about you?”_

_“Just keep your goddamned head down and let me handle this,” Eddie hissed. It was enough to get Nicklaus to shut his goddamned mouth as he ducked down into the tub._

_The guest room door burst open, and Sybil came in roaring. “EDDIIIIEE!” she screeched. “YOU SON OF A BITCH!” She stomped over to the bathroom and followed the path of the chains to the door. She then banged on it with her fist, jolting Eddie as he bounced against it. “EDDIE!”_

_“IT’S TOO LATE!” Eddie shouted. “You’re done for! Just give yourself up!”_

_“NEVER!” she screamed, and threw all of her weight against the door. Eddie bounced against it and calculated her timing, waiting until the third time she charged before he opened the door. She ran in, her momentum built up as she sped right past Eddie and towards the tub. She reached out of the shower curtains, tugging down hard on them to keep herself from falling in, and Nicklaus gave out a terrified shriek. The curtain popped off the rings from her weight, and she fell to her knees as the curtain draped over her._

_Nicklaus curled into a fetal position and covered his head with his arms. Sybil rose to her feet and turned to face Eddie, and that’s when he noticed the knife in her hand. She’d somehow managed to not stab herself, as the blade was clean and sharp. Sybil’s eyes burned like molten lead inside her skull as they fixed themselves onto Eddie. She raised the knife and screamed as she ran towards Eddie, and Eddie charged to meet her and catch her wrist in the air. The knife hovered above his head as he held her back, pushing all of his weight against hers until he slammed her back into the wall. She growled and tried to wrench her hand away, but he swung his head back and bashed his forehead against hers. She groaned, and slid to the floor, her knife still in her hand. Eddie grabbed a hold of her now limp hand and pried the knife from her limp fingers. She was still dazed, and when he pressed his forearm against her chest and the knife against her throat, her eyes were still glazed over and dull, like a cow’s eyes._

_“I oughta kill you right now,” he snarled. “I could slit your goddamned throat right now and be completely justified.”_

_Sybil screwed her eyes shut and winced. “You wouldn’t.”_

_“You think I’m bluffing?” Eddie asked. A hint of a derisive chuckle bubbled up as he spoke. “You think I wouldn’t do it?”_

_“You think you’re too good a person to do it,” Sybil said with a smirk. “You want to think you’re better than me.”_

_“That’s ‘cause I’m not a rapist and a murderer like you,” he snarled._

_“Tell that first one to that priest,” said Sybil._

_Above them, the sound of boots stomping across the house grew louder. Nicklaus uncurled himself, and shouted, “DOWN HERE! HELP! WE’RE DOWN HERE!”_

_“You made us do that!” Eddie snapped._

_“You could have refused.”_

_“You know goddamn well I couldn’t refuse.”_

_“Why?” she asked. “You think I was going to kill you?” She laughed. “No. I was saving that for a moment like this.”_

_“Looks like things didn’t work out the way you planned.” He couldn’t hide the cocky grin coming over his face._

_“You got off though, didn’t you?”_

_Eddie’s grin faded. “What’re you--”_

_“You came inside of him, Eddie,” she said. “You both came. You both liked it. I think you liked fucking somebody that didn’t want it for once.”_

_He stared at her, and the knife handle in his hand was slippery with sweat. “I don’t gotta listen to you try and play mind games with me,” he growled._

_“Did you pretend he was me?” Sybil’s tone turned bubbly._

_“Shut up.” He pressed against her chest, and forced her head back against the wall by edging the knife closer to her throat._

_“POLICE!” someone shouted down the hall. It sounded like Burton. “STAY RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE!”_

_“Or was it Nicklaus? I know how much you like making him cry. He cries good, doesn’t he? Cries just like your little girls did…”_

_“I SAID, SHUT UP!” Eddie screamed, and shoved the blade into the soft flesh of her neck. It gave easily, and she gurgled as hot, red blood sprayed from her throat and onto Eddie’s face. Nicklaus cried out in shock, scooting backwards against the far side of the tub._

_Eddie stared into her wide eyes, and looked to the blood seeping onto his hand. She twitched and gagged on the knife and the blood, and red spilled from her mouth like drool. Eddie sneered in disgust, and pulled his arms back. He let her fall onto the bathroom tile, and the blood seeped from her wound, snaking its way between the cracks in the tile. Eddie tried to recall the last time he had seen something as red as this red, the red pooling at his knees, splattered on his hands. He’d been so entranced by it he barely heard Nicklaus screaming his name._

“Eddie!”

“Huh?” Eddie jerked his head upright. He wasn’t in the bathroom; he was still sitting on the carpet by the sofa. The television was still on, and the house was otherwise quiet.

“I asked you a question.” Nicklaus had since moved to the couch, and he was on his stomach, one arm stretched back as he grabbed a hold of his foot. He grunted as he pulled on it, stretching his leg and then letting it go to fall back against the cushions. He sighed. “But it appears I only interrupted whatever daydreams you were having.”

Eddie shifted where he sat. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “What was your question?”

“I asked if you wanted to switch back to the news,” he said. “It’s almost noon.”

“Oh,” said Eddie. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good. Go ahead.”

Nicklaus rolled over, sat up and stretched his arms above his head. He then picked up the remote control, changing the channel back only to find a commercial for carpet installation and when the end jingle played, Nicklaus found himself humming along with it. It played into a preview for that afternoon’s Dr. Oz. Nicklaus sighed, and looked to Eddie. “So what were you thinking about?”

“Huh?”

“You seemed pretty deep in your thoughts,” Nicklaus said. “Fantasizing about being rescued by some shining, armored knight, perhaps?”

“You sayin’ I’m a damsel?” Eddie asked wryly.

“A prince in a dungeon, obviously,” said Nicklaus. “Guarded by a witch and her dragon.”

“And what would that make you, then?”

Nicklaus shrugged. “A squire?”

“Bit too old to be a squire, don’t you think?”

“Bah! Shows what you know.”

The graphics for the news at noon started to play, announcing its arrival with soaring 3D letters that it was live, local and late-breaking. Nicklaus leaned forward with interest. Eddie leaned back against the sofa, and watched as the faces of the news team looked to the camera and smiled as they were introduced.

“If they found him so soon, the cops would’ve already shown up by now,” Eddie said.

“Shhhh,” Nicklaus shushed, making a shooing gesture with his hand. “It’s starting.”

“Right,” Eddie stood up, and strolled over to the bathroom. “You lemme know if something interesting happens.”

“Of course,” said Nicklaus. His eyes were locked onto the screen.

Eddie shut the door as much as he could around the chain, and placed the edge of his foot against it to keep it closed. He was positioned in front of the toilet, and lifted the lid. Nicklaus seemed to be in the habit of keeping it closed, and Eddie wasn’t one to question it. He’d just started to piss when he heard Nicklaus cry out.

“EDDIE!”

“Shit!” Eddie flinched hard enough that his stream was interrupted, and flecks of piss splattered onto the rim of the bowl. He shook his dick dry and tucked it back into his pants. “Jesus, Nick!” he shouted. He poked his head out of the bathroom. “Can’t you wait like half a goddamned minute and let a man piss in--” He stopped. Nicklaus looked at him with wide eyes, and then looked back to the screen. Eddie pushed the door the rest of the way open, and walked towards the couch. He turned to look back to the television against the wall, and saw Father James Richards’ smiling face staring back at him.

The pulse in his ears nearly drowned out the voice of the news anchor as footage of a police tape surrounding a creek in the woods played. A distressed woman, her voice rattling with a nervous stutter, spoke into a microphone and pointed back into the wooded area where the yellow tape hung. A cop with his back to the camera looked over the crime scene. There was a shot of a Catholic church. A parishioner, her eyes wet with tears, spoke tearfully as she clutched a rosary to her chest, and asked why, oh _why_ anyone would do such a thing.

Eddie felt his skin go cold. He looked to Nicklaus, who looked back at him expectedly. “Maybe… maybe they haven’t found it yet,” Nicklaus said hopefully. “Maybe it fell out.”

Eddie’s knees turned to jelly, and he stumbled over to the couch before he plopped onto it. He hung his head down, and was struck by the kind of dizziness he might get from a creaky carnival ride. His back felt clammy. He held his head in his hands as he tried to ground himself.

“Maybe they’re on their way right now!” said Nicklaus. “They could be here any minute! We just have to wait here until they--”

“For God’s sake, Nick, _would you just shut the hell up?_ ” Eddie’s voice rose as he spoke until he was shouting. Nicklaus recoiled meekly, and went quiet. Eddie groaned.

“We’re fucked, Nick,” he said. “We’re so fucked.”

For a while, Nicklaus remained silent. Eddie tried not to either cry or throw up, though he felt like doing both. She knew. She had to know. That would certainly explain her behavior that morning. Endless possibilities of the discipline they would endure flashed through his head.

“Eddie,” Nicklaus said in a soft, timid voice, “do you think she’s going to kill us?”

Eddie shook his head. “I don’t… I don’t even know anymore.”

Nicklaus sat back, slowly, against the couch, and sunk into it as the gravity of this revelation pushed down on him. The television droned on as the news anchor asked the reporter live on the scene about the significance of the upside-down cross carved into the victim's head, and whether or not this was the work of some satanic cult.

“So now what do we do?” Nicklaus asked.

For a while, Eddie did not answer. He heaved a sigh, stood up off the couch, and began to pace. Nicklaus watched him as he walked back and forth in front of the television, until Eddie came to a halt. He looked to Nicklaus, his expression as cold and stony as a tombstone. “Nick,” he said. “I need you to do me a favor.”

Nicklaus sat up at attention. “Yes?”

“I’m gonna need you,” said Eddie, speaking each word with careful deliberation, “to take your hands, put them on my neck… and strangle the life outta me.”

Nicklaus made a noise that sounded like a cross between a whine and a laugh. “This is no time for jokes, Eddie,” he said. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m serious.”

The expression on Nicklaus’ face went from a nervous smile to a look of slack-jawed horror. “No. No, you’re not. Absolutely not. You know I can’t do that.”

“Nick--”

“I could never… I would never even dream of doing that!” Nicklaus’ voice rose in pitch and volume. “I’m disgusted you would even ask me such a thing! Why on earth would you ask that of me?”

“Well, it’d be a lot harder to choke myself, Nick. If you want, we could try to rip the sink out the wall, bash my head in instead.”

“No!” Nicklaus’ voice nearly cracked. “No! My God, Eddie, no!”

“You do it right, it’d be real quick,” Eddie said. He stalked closer to the couch, and Nicklaus backed up against it, pushing himself flatter against the backrest. “I’d lose consciousness, probably die of a hemorrhage.”

“Are you crazy?” Nicklaus asked. “What good would that possibly do?”

“I DON’T WANT HER TO BE THE ONE TO KILL ME!”

Nicklaus blinked. His back was against the wall above the couch and his ass rested on the top of the backrest. He stayed there, wide-eyed and frightened, staring at Eddie like a cornered animal, his only movement in his heaving chest. Eddie groaned, and fell to his knees before he sat on the floor.

“What’s the use?” he asked. “What’s the goddamned use anymore? Fuck it. Fuck everything. Just…” His head fell forward, and his hands balled into fists, clutching at the carpet fibers. “Just god _damn_ it.”

He felt his chest grow tight as his ribcage squeezed on his lungs and heart. The pangs felt like stabs with a knife. He shuddered with each gasping breath, and as his vision blurred, he shut his eyes only to feel hot tears running down his cheek. He curled forward, resting his head against the floor and his crossed arms, and tried to swallow his sobs only to choke on each one.

He was dimly aware of the couch springs creaking behind him and the television flicking off. A hand then stroked his back, and he flinched under its touch. “Leave me alone, Nick,” he groaned.

“You expect me to leave you alone when you’re like this?” Nicklaus asked.

Eddie didn’t answer. He wanted to tell Nick to fuck off, to leave him to his sorrow, but where could Nick even fuck off to? Instead, he gritted his teeth and curled in tighter as the tears burned in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Eddie,” said Nicklaus.

“For what?” Eddie asked. He could taste his own bitterness on his tongue.

“For not knowing how to help you,” said Nicklaus. He rubbed Eddie’s back, his touch gentle and reverent. “I’m sorry, Eddie. But I’ll be with you, at your side, until the end.”

Eddie shuddered and took a deep breath. His face and shoulders felt hot and his stomach had turned into a pretzel. Still, Nicklaus kept stroking him like a kitten.

“We’ll make it through this somehow,” said Nicklaus. “I won’t let her kill you.”

“How’re you gonna stop her if she tries?” Eddie asked.

“I’ll figure out a way,” said Nicklaus. “I…” he paused for a moment, furrowing his brow in contemplation. “I’m much too fond of you, Eddie.”

Eddie didn’t respond. He stayed curled up, his face burning with shame for having asked Nicklaus to murder him, and still the man was kind enough (and perhaps stupid enough) to stay by his side. Slowly, like a hedgehog, he came out of his ball, and rolled onto his side. Nicklaus was sitting Indian-style, looking at Eddie, his eyes flickering over him and his fingers laced in his lap.

“How are you feeling?” Nicklaus asked.

Eddie snorted. “How do you _think_ I’m feeling?”

“I thought you might be feeling a little better after having a cry,” Nicklaus said with a shrug.

“I wasn’t crying,” Eddie protested.

“Of _course_ you weren’t,” said Nicklaus. “You had something in both of your eyes. You asked me to kill you but you’re still stubborn enough that you refuse to cry in front of me.” He rolled his eyes. “My God, Eddie.”

“Shut up, Nick.”

“No. Besides, we should be _thinking._ ”

Eddie lifted his head off the floor. “About what?”

“About how we’re going to talk our way out of getting murdered,” said Nicklaus. “While you were on the floor wishing you were dead, I had the opportunity to think about our predicament.”

“Did you now?” Eddie asked. He adjusted himself so that he was propped up on one of his elbows. “Alright then, Nickie, what exactly are you gonna say that’s gonna keep that little psychopath from slitting your goddamned throat, then?”

“I think it’d be worth pointing out why she picked us, _specifically,_ over any other men,” said Nicklaus. “How many other native Germans is she going to run into? And how many other men is she going to know that happen to have an infamous younger sibling such as yourself?”

“If she finds another gay German fella and he’s actually related to a Nazi, then you’re fucked,” said Eddie.

“Somehow I highly doubt that will happen anytime soon,” said Nicklaus. “Besides, she’s spent so much time on us, ‘taming’ us, setting up this room just so, spending money on us…”

“You’re gonna argue the sunk time fallacy, then?” Eddie asked, his voice flat.

“Exactly!” said Nicklaus. He smiled, though there was the barest hint of apprehension in it. “And if that doesn’t work… I suppose I can always appeal to her ego.”

“Plan B is ‘groveling,’ then,” said Eddie.

“That’s a rather crude way of putting it,” said Nicklaus. “I’d prefer to call it ‘flattery.’”

“Reason and flattery,” said Eddie. “I’m sure that’ll work out just swell.” He took a deep breath through flared nostrils, and closed his eyes as he let it out his mouth. “If she’s gonna kill us, I’m just gonna ask that she get it over with quick.”

The basement door slammed closed, and footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs. Nicklaus sat up straight, sucked in his stomach and puffed out his chest. Eddie rolled over onto his stomach, and watched the door. The footsteps came closer, and stopped. When the key was inserted into the lock, Eddie pushed himself up and sat beside Nicklaus. He rubbed at his face with the back of his hand to wipe away any excess tears left; Nicklaus noticed, but made no comment. Eddie sniffled, and clenched his jaw tight in anticipation as the door opened.

There, standing in the doorway was Brandon, and the smirk that overtook his face set off shrill alarm bells and sirens in Eddie’s mind. Brandon almost never came down alone. Eddie glanced over at Nicklaus quickly, as though to confirm that they were both seeing the same thing. Nicklaus’ throat bobbed.

“‘Sup, cocksuckers?” said Brandon, with one arm behind his back. “Wanna see something cool?”

“What--” was all Nicklaus was able to get out before Brandon pulled out what he’d been hiding behind his back, and aimed it at Nicklaus. There was a loud pop, and Nicklaus’ back arched forward as his entire body started to spasm and jerk. He made a strained, trembling sound in the back of his mouth and his eyes bugged out of their sockets as he writhed. Eddie jumped back in horror, and his eyes caught sight of the two probes attached to wires sticking out of Nick’s chest. Eddie barely had time to react when he heard another pop, and his entire body went rigid until he shook. His muscles felt as though they were trying to tear themselves off his bones in different directions, his teeth rattled in his skull, and the pain, _god,_ the pain! The buzzing, pulsing pain that lit his every nerve on fire as he fell to the ground and flopped like a fish. As he lay twitching, he heard Brandon laugh, and watched, helpless, as his feet approached closer and closer, until they stopped short of Eddie’s face. Brandon squatted down, sighing as Eddie’s muscles contracted and expanded in erratic spasms.

“Sorry, Professor,” Brandon said, voice dripping with mock pity, “guess you’re not as smart as you think you are.” Eddie watched as Brandon placed a Taser on the floor just inches from Eddie’s face, and he saw the wires unspooled out of the weapon’s canister; wires that were now attached to his own spastic body.

Eddie tried to say something to spite the smug son of a bitch, but could only let out a pained groan. Brandon pulled something from his back pocket that, at first glance, looked like an over-sized wallet. Brandon unzipped it along its side, and opened it like a book. He turned away from Eddie as he placed it on the ground. Eddie tried to lift his head to get a better look, but as he craned his neck, the pain lit up his nerves all over again and his head fell back on the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Brandon holding up a hypodermic needle and flicking the tip.

Brandon grabbed a hold of Eddie’s shoulder, and reverse-pinched at Eddie’s skin, stretching it tight. Eddie winced as Brandon stuck in the needle and pushed down the plunger. The panic and rage he felt under the hand of his tormentor burned for a few seconds more before it was snuffed completely out in darkness.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The first thing that came to Eddie’s awareness was music. Ghostly, far-away music played from somewhere that sounded like Eddie was underwater. In mere seconds, it came in clearly, free of echoes and distortion, and Eddie grunted. Was that Siouxsie and the Banshees? He opened his eyes, and squinted under the bright light directly above him. He tried to lift his arm to shield his eyes only to find his wrist pinned down somewhere above his head. He tried the same with his other arm, and found that it was also fastened down. He tried to kick his feet, and when they, too, were held down by his ankles, he groaned. His vision came into focus, and he saw the light above him was a single, bare, 60 watt bulb, hanging down from a wooden beam as flies buzzed above his head. The ceiling itself was peaked, meeting above the beam at an acute angle. Chains hung from metal rails fastened to the beams along the ceiling, swinging ever-so-slightly as their links clinked together. He shivered, and realized that he was completely naked.

“Eddie. Psst! Eddie!”

Eddie turned his head towards the whispering, and saw Nicklaus standing over him. No, not standing; his body was swinging, and his arms were raised above his head. Nicklaus’ wrists were bound together with rope, suspended by a hook on a chain. He was also naked, and his chest marked by twin, raw sores from the Taser probes. Behind Nicklaus, along the wall, there was a wide array of tools on display; hammers, saws, knives, power tools and implements that Eddie could not recognize in his groggy state.

Eddie groaned. “Whuh… where--?”

Nicklaus shushed him, and jerked his head to his left, eyes darting from the spot he was indicating back to Eddie. Eddie tilted his head back, arching his back until he was able to catch an upside-down glimpse of Sybil’s back. She was wearing a white tank-top, white panties, and some kind of apron, and she was standing in front of a workbench, busy enough not to pay notice to either of them. There was a portable radio sitting beside her on the bench, and “Cities in Dust” emanated from its tinny speaker. Eddie couldn’t see what she was doing, but there was enough metal clattering to cover up Nicklaus’ whispers.

Eddie lowered himself back onto the table, gently enough that he barely made any noise. He looked back over to Nick, his eyes begging for some kind of way out of this predicament. Nicklaus attempted a shrug, but could only manage a helpless frown and a chest heave.

The shed door opened, and Eddie lifted his head forward to see Brandon come inside, carrying what appeared to be a briefcase. He had nearly been distracted by his first glimpse of the outside when Brandon locked eyes with Eddie, and grinned.

“Oh, good,” he said, flashing his bleach-white smile, “they’re awake.”

“I knew,” said Sybil. “You brought what I asked for?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Where you want me to put these?”

“Just put ‘em by me,” she said. “Then pull up a chair. You might end up enjoying yourself.”

“I’d better,” said Brandon. He walked around the table, the side opposite of Nicklaus, and set the case at her feet.

“Pardon me,” said Nicklaus, and immediately Eddie winced. “Might I be so bold as to ask what’s going on here, exactly?”

Brandon turned his gaze to Nicklaus and smirked. “Oh, you’re gonna find out pretty soon,” he said. “In the meantime, though, I’d suggest shutting your fucking mouth before I do it for you.”

Nicklaus clenched his jaw tight, and gulped. Satisfied with this response, Brandon walked to the farthest side of the shack, grabbing hold of a folded chair that had been leaning against the wall before he unfolded it and sat down. The sheer level of smugness on Brandon’s face made Eddie want to retch. The man looked like he’d unleashed a silent fart in a crowded elevator.

Sybil turned around, adjusting the late gloves on her hands. She looked between Nicklaus and Eddie with half-lidded eyes. “Good evening, boys. I suppose you’re wondering why you’re here.”

“Among other things,” Nicklaus said in a very small, timid voice.

She laid her hands flat on the table over Eddie, gazing at him adoringly as she loomed over him. She cupped his face, caressing his cheek with a feather-light tenderness. “Don’t worry,” she said. “You’ll find out pretty soon.” Her hand slid down Eddie’s chest and Eddie squirmed as she pinched one of his nipples.

She stood up straight and approached Nicklaus. “But I think,” she said, “that you boys might have some idea already… don’t you?”

“I-I don’t know what you’re referring to, Mistress,” said Nicklaus.

“Is that right?” she asked.

“Get to the goddamned point already,” Eddie growled. “If you’re gonna do something, go ahead and do it.”

Sybil looked at Eddie, plashing her hand over her chest. “Eddie!” she gasped. “I’m shocked at you. You completely ruined the moment. You really should learn not to be so rude.”

Eddie just snorted.

“But as I was saying,” Sybil continued, “I think you do know what I’m talking about. I think you _both_ know.” She lifted Nicklaus’ chin, and ran her fingers through his beard. “You’re always so easy to see through, Nickie. You’re an awful liar.”

Nicklaus trembled under her touch. She smiled, and went back over to the workbench. “I’ve been too soft on both of you,” she said. “I’ve spoiled you boys. Both of you. I’ve let you have that television, I’ve kept you both groomed, I gave you a bed to sleep in and I even let Nick have his _pencils and paper._ ” She let those last three words hang in the air. Eddie sucked in his breath, and Nicklaus began to shudder.

Sybil walked back to the table. She loomed over Eddie, and lifted her closed fist. She opened it, and a small, crumpled piece of paper landed on Eddie’s chest, bouncing once before settling just under his sternum. Eddie betrayed nothing, regarding the scrap with disinterest. Nicklaus bit his lip.

“You recognize it?” Sybil asked.

“Go to hell,” Eddie growled.

Sybil plucked the paper up off of Eddie, and opened it. She held it up in front of Nicklaus. “Would you read this aloud for me?” she asked, her voice sickeningly sweet, like melted butterscotch.

“I don’t… I don’t have my glasses,” he said softly.

She shoved the paper into his face as he recoiled. “Read,” she commanded.

Nicklaus wet his lips, and looked pathetically from Sybil to the paper in her hand. “Crickett and Messmer are alive,” he said, his voice soft and feeble as he squinted, “in Brandon Hamilton house. Please… please send help.”

“Thank you, Nickie,” she said. “Do you know _where_ I found this?”

Nicklaus pursed his lips and nodded, shaking like a small dog. Sybil’s smile turned sinister, her eyes aglow with wicked amusement.

“You found it in the Father’s mouth,” Eddie mercifully interjected.

Sybil turned around to face Eddie. “Why, yes, Eddie,” she said. “I certainly did!”

“If you’re lookin’ to punish us, you should be focusing on me,” said Eddie. “Nick didn’t do shit. It was my idea, and I did it. So there.” His voice wavered on those last two words. Eddie hoped she hadn’t noticed.

The grin that took over her face, however, said that she had. She leaned over him, and ran the tip of her finger over his chest, tracing his tattoos.

“Oh, but I think he did,” she said. “I mean, he at least helped you cover it up, didn’t he? He gave you the pencil and paper and _everything_.” Her eyes met Eddie’s, and he felt pinned by her gaze. Her eyes were wide and pale, and ghostly. He shuddered. “And I think you two need to be taught a lesson.”

“It’d be a waste to kill us, you know!”

All eyes turned to Nicklaus. He looked embarrassed by his outburst, but still he continued. “A-after all, you’ve spent so much time and money on us… and you picked us both for very specific reasons. Therefore… therefore, it’d be a waste to kill us now, would it not?”

Sybil giggled. “Oh, Nickie,” she said, still smiling, “who said anything about killing you?”

Eddie went rigid underneath her touch, and the hairs on his body prickled like tiny needles on his skin. The feeling of dread forming in his stomach had coalesced into an icy lead ball, and the reality of their situation finally sank in.

Nick, however, was still smiling nervously. “You mean… you’re not going to kill us?” he asked, his inflection tilting upwards.

“Of course not,” she said. “You’re right. I did pick you two for specific reasons. You’re both very, very special to me.” She pet Eddie’s head gently as he winced. “And I would never want to kill you.”

“Oh, thank God,” Nicklaus breathed. “I mean, I was _sure_ that you were going to kill us.”

Sybil smiled fondly, but said nothing. Instead, she stood back upright, and walked back to the workbench. She grabbed hold of the case, and set it down on its side. It had a hard, metallic outer casing, and the case itself was large and thick. She flicked open the fasteners, and lifted the lid.

“Mistress?” Nicklaus craned his neck to try and look over her shoulder. “Mistress… what are you doing?”

“Oh, Nickie, you didn’t think I was just going to let you and the professor get away with that little stunt, did you?” she asked. “Oh, no, we need to make sure you never, _ever_ think of doing that again.”

“What do you mean by that?” Nicklaus asked. His voice choked into a frightful squeak.

“Oh, don’t worry,” said Sybil. “It won’t be all that bad.” She reached into the case, and pulled out a curved, smooth, black object, shaped like a crooked finger. It was bulbous on one end with a smaller, silver object sticking out. She pressed on it with her thumb, and the device buzzed to life, much to Nicklaus’ confusion.

“Who knows,” she said, “you might even get off on it.”

“Ah, hell,” Eddie muttered. He tried again to wriggle out of his restraints, but had no luck. The leather straps holding him down held fast.

“I don’t think I understand,” said Nicklaus. “Is this just… more sex things?”

“You’ll understand pretty soon,” she said. “Don’t you worry about that.” She stood back up, carrying the toy and an all-too familiar bottle as she moved behind Nicklaus. She popped open the bottle with her teeth, and poured lubricant onto the bulb on the slimmer end of the toy. “Relax, Nickie.”

Nicklaus inhaled and exhaled deeply, and squirmed as Sybil lined the head of the toy with his anus. Slowly, she pushed it in, and Nick let out a squeak from the back of his throat and arched his back. She slid it as far in as it would go, leaving the end with the vibrator exposed and hugging his perineum. She pressed the button on the vibrator, and Nicklaus started to twitch.

“Feel good?” Sybil cooed.

Nicklaus could only give a hasty nod as he bit his lip.

“Good,” she said. She walked back to the bench, and picked up two curled, insulated wires, one in each hand. At the ends of each wire was an electrode, and she approached Nicklaus, holding up both so he could see them clearly. Nicklaus whimpered, and she placed the electrodes over his nipples. She stepped back, and looked over the wires attached to his toes.

“I want you to watch this, Professor,” she said to Eddie as she walked back to the bench, “because no matter what I do to Nickie, you’re going to get something even worse.” Eddie tried to twist his neck back, but couldn’t catch a glimpse of the control box she lovingly stroked. “Let’s see if I did this right,” she said. She twisted the dial on the top of the machine, and it buzzed as it powered on.

Immediately, Nicklaus’ body seized and he tried to cage the scream in his mouth through gritted teeth. Sybil hummed to herself as she turned the power higher, and Nicklaus thrashed about in a violent fit as his teeth chattered and his eyes rolled back into his head until only the whites were visible.

“Stop it,” said Eddie, “stop it!”

Sybil turned the dial counterclockwise until it shut off. Nicklaus gasped for breath, and wheezed, his narrow chest heaved and shuddered.

“Hmmm?” Sybil hummed.

“You’re going to kill him!” Eddie cried. “He’s 55, for Christ’s sake!”

Nicklaus murmured something in German under his breath. Sybil turned the dial and sent another quick jolt through him, making him scream before switching it back off again.

“I think you should have thought of that before you wrote that note, Eddie,” said Sybil.

“You should probably put something in his mouth,” said Brandon.

“What?” Sybil asked.

“Put something in Nick’s mouth,” Brandon explained. “I mean, just so that he doesn’t bite his tongue off and swallow it or something, right?”

Sybil snapped her fingers. “Yeah!” she said. “Yeah, I knew I was forgetting something! Thanks, sweetie.”

Brandon gave her a wink and a thumbs-up. Eddie just scowled at her.

Sybil went back to the workbench, and grabbed hold of a worn and peeling leather belt. She stretched it taut until it snapped. Nicklaus failed to respond to this, his head lolling on his shoulders as he murmured incomprehensibly. Sybil huffed in annoyance, and yanked Nicklaus’ head back by his hair. She stuffed the strap in his mouth between his teeth, and fastened it behind his head. She let his head fall back forward, and patted him on the cheek. “There,” she said. “That better?”

Nicklaus made a breathy, disgruntled noise through his clenched teeth, and let loose a spray of spittle from between his lips. His cock had started to stiffen.

“Good boy,” she said. She went back to the controls, and turned the dial up again. 

Nicklaus screamed again through his gag, and Eddie turned away and shut his eyes. He couldn’t bear to watch the man convulse and shriek. It only made his screams louder, and Eddie cringed so hard the muscles in his shoulders ached. Sybil switched the dial on and off again, over and over and over, giving Nicklaus only brief moments of respite, before she turned it up so high that Nicklaus’ nose started to bleed, and his body shook so violently that Eddie opened his eyes again just to make sure he hadn’t gone into cardiac arrest.

Sybil finally switched off controls, and Nicklaus gasped for breath, still trembling like a small, terrified dog. He looked as though he’d aged ten years over the course of ten minutes. His pectorals still twitched under the electrodes and his body was slick with sweat. He’d nearly bitten through the leather of the belt in his mouth.

“How’re you doing, Nickie?” she asked in a sing-song-y voice.

“Nnngf,” was all Nicklaus was able to get out.

“You gonna leave him alone yet?” Eddie asked. “C’mon, you bitch. I can take it.”

Sybil walked past the table, staring straight ahead as she made her way to the shed door.

“Hey!” Eddie shouted. “You hear me?”

She opened the door, and stepped outside. It was dark, and moths fluttered inside, bee-lining for the light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Eddie lifted his head to try and get some glimpse of what Sybil was doing. It was then that he caught the first whiff of smoke, heard a faint crunching noise with metal scraping against metal, and saw orange embers wafting in the air from beyond the door frame. He felt his stomach roll as Sybil stepped back inside, wielding an iron poker that glowed with heat. Nicklaus recoiled as she moved toward him, holding up the poker in front of his face.

“N-nnf!” Nicklaus shook his head furiously. “Nerrn! Nuurr!”

“Oh, this is gonna be good,” said Brandon. He leaned forward with a wolfish grin.

“I said he’s had enough!” Eddie shouted, his face ruddy with furor. “Burn me, Sybil! Burn _me!_ ”

“Don’t worry,” she said, giving Eddie a wicked little smile, “you’ll get your turn. But for now… you watch.” She lowered the poker, and held the red tip of it against the outside of Nicklaus’ thigh. Nicklaus squirmed and mumbled in terror, failing to wriggle away from her as she pressed the side of the poker against his flesh.

Nicklaus screamed through his gag, throwing his head back as the burning metal cooked his skin. He kicked his legs in mid-air as Sybil positioned herself behind him, and applied the poker again across the flesh of his ass. He thrashed about as his eyes bulged from their sockets and his face turned as red as the poker against his skin. Eddie’s stomach flopped, and his nostrils were filled with the smell of burnt flesh, and he barely managed to swallow back the bile rising in his throat. Sybil struck Nicklaus’ other thigh with the poker, and let it sizzle and burn. Nicklaus stopped screaming, and went limp as his head fell forward.

Sybil swatted at Nicklaus’ face, and Nicklaus failed to respond. “Brandon,” she said, “can you get me that bucket?”

“Yeah, okay,” Brandon stood up, and reached behind his chair, lifting up a blue, plastic bucket that had been on the ground behind him. A bit of water sloshed over the edge as he hefted the bucket up against his chest. He swung it back, and heaved the contents forward, splashing onto Nicklaus’ face and over Eddie’s chest. Nicklaus awoke with a startled gasp, sucking in breath as though he’d been drowning. His legs trembled, and his erection bobbed.

“Thanks, sweetie,” said Sybil. “Lemme put this back in the pit, we’re probably gonna need it again.”

“Yeah,” said Brandon. “Shit, maybe he wants some more.”

“He does look so eager, doesn’t he?” Sybil traced the underside of Nicklaus’ aching cock. His thighs twitched at her touch, and he sucked in his gut in some misguided attempt to get away from her. “Do you like pain, Nickie?”

Nicklaus shook his head.

“No?” Sybil asked. “Then why are you so hard?”

“It’s ‘cause you got that thing in his ass,” said Eddie.

“Say, Brandon,” said Sybil, pretending she hadn’t heard Eddie at all, “do you think you could help Nickie here? I don’t think he’s had enough.”

Nicklaus jerked his head up, and shook it, his protests muffled by the belt. Brandon smirked, and approached the collection of instruments hanging on the wall. As he examined each weapon, he wiggled his fingers as though he were browsing a library bookshelf. His hand halted, and he grabbed a hold of a wooden bat that had been sitting atop two metal pegs. He lightly tossed the bat in his palms to test its heft. Nicklaus squealed, and kicked his legs uselessly. Sybil walked around to the far side of the table, resting her elbows on Eddie’s stomach as she leaned over him. Eddie turned his head back towards Nicklaus, and saw Brandon approaching him with a bat in hand.

“The hell do you think you’re doing?” Eddie snapped.

“Sweetie, would you shut him the fuck up?” Brandon asked, looking over his shoulder back to Sybil.

Sybil peeled off one of her gloves, crumpled it up and jammed it into Eddie’s mouth. Eddie tried to spit it out, but she crammed it down further; not enough to choke him, but enough to make it difficult for Eddie to get rid of it. “Better?” She asked.

“Much,” said Brandon. He looked back to Nicklaus, who looked back to him with all the helplessness of a prisoner being lead to the gallows. Brandon prodded him in the stomach with the bat. “You enjoying yourself?”

Nicklaus shook his head.

“Your boner there says otherwise, you fucking sicko,” said Brandon, nudging Nicklaus’ erection with the tip of the bat. “Bet you’d love it if I whipped out my dick right now and made you suck it.” Brandon raised the bat to the underside of Nicklaus’ chin, and pushed his head up and back. “Bet you’d even lick my cum up, too. How could you not, right? I’m hot as shit.”

“Don’t say that shit unless you’re willing to deliver on that, sweetie,” said Sybil. “It’s not nice to tease.”

“We’re not very nice people,” said Brandon. “Don’t know if you’ve noticed or not. Nice people don’t do shit like this.” He swung the bat back, and brought it forward again, colliding into Nicklaus’ stomach. Nicklaus attempted to double over as all the air was forced out of his lungs. Brandon hit him again, this time in the kneecap, and was rewarded with Nicklaus wailing in pain. He continued to beat on Nicklaus as though the man was a piñata. Eddie shut his eyes and the sound of wood cracking against flesh and bone only got louder. Brandon landed one last swing against Nicklaus’ ribs, getting one last groan out of the man before he tossed the bat off to the side. He got up close to Nicklaus’ face, close enough that their noses almost touched. He undid the strap in Nicklaus’ mouth and tossed it aside. “You had enough yet, Nickie?”

“Please,” he wheezed, “no more.”

“No more?” Brandon asked. “I dunno, Nick. I’m not sure if it’s really sunken in yet. I don’t know if I’ve gotten across just how fucking _infuriated_ I am right now!” As he said this, he grabbed both sides of Nicklaus’ face in his hands so that their eyes were locked. Brandon’s face was ruddy, his eyes bulged and his mouth twisted into a rictus grin. “Have I gotten through to you get, you fucking cock-gumming geriatric _fuck?_ ”

“I think… you have…” Nicklaus panted. “Just… please… please stop. I’ll never try to escape again, just please stop it… please…” He began to weep, his voice rising in pitch to an ear-piercing keen, and tears soaked his beard.

“That’s enough, Brandon,” said Sybil. “I can take it from here.”

Brandon looked back to her, the corner of his mouth pulled back in an irked half-frown. He shrugged. “Alright,” he said. “Go ahead.” He went back to his chair, and flopped down, resting in a spread-legged slouch he no doubt mastered in high school. He raised an arm, making a sweeping gesture over the interior of the shed. “Proceed.”

“Thanks, honey,” said Sybil. She blew Brandon a kiss, and Brandon reached up in the air, grabbing at the imaginary kiss and placing it on his lips. Sybil giggled, and patted Eddie on the chest as she walked back to the workbench. “Nickie?”

A pitiful whine escaped Nicklaus’ throat.

“He’s right, you know,” said Sybil. “We do need to make sure you won’t try anything like that again.” She picked up something small, something neither Nicklaus nor Eddie could see. She approached Nicklaus, and wrapped an arm around his neck, pulling him towards her. “You understand, don’t you?”

“Y-yes,” Nicklaus choked out. “Yes, I do. I do completely. Please let me down.”

“No,” said Sybil. She pressed herself against him, her belly against his cock with only the apron and her underwear between them. “Not quite yet. Soon.”

“What--” Nicklaus choked on the word, his throat bobbing as he tried to swallow it. “Why?”

“Shhh,” she shushed him, and pressed a finger to his lips. “Don’t ask questions. If I want you to speak, you’ll do it when I tell you to, alright? Can you do that for me, Nickie?”

Nicklaus gave a shaky nod.

“Good boy,” she said. She pulled Nicklaus toward her, until she backed into the table upon which Eddie lay. She moved her hands down to Nicklus’ ass, avoiding the sticky and burnt skin, and pressed his crotch tight against hers. He felt something sting against his ass cheek in her hand as she held him in place, but he couldn’t tell what it was aside from that it was small, rough and made of plastic.

“You know I love you, right?” asked Sybil. “I mean, not the same way I love Brandon, of course, but I do love you and Eddie both.”

“Mm-hmm,” Nicklaus squeaked.

“I want the both of you all to myself,” she said. “I want you to be mine forever. And I want to make sure you never, ever forget that.”

“I don’t think I ever co--” Nicklaus started, Sybil shushed him.

“I’m sure you think that,” she said, “but I need you to know it. And I need to _know_ that you know it, you know?” She hopped onto the table, scooting her ass back until it bumped against Eddie’s ribs. She held Nicklaus closer with one leg wrapped around his waist, and slipped one leg out of her panties.

“Mmm-mmm,” said Nicklaus, shaking his head.

“You’ll know,” she said. She kicked her panties off and adjusted her position on the table. Nicklaus was being tugged forward, his arms stretched back above him as his pelvis was being pulled forward. Sybil held him in place with her legs as she cast off her apron, tossing it over Eddie’s legs. She grabbed hold of Nicklauls’ cock and guided it into her already soaking cunt. She threw her head back as she gasped. Nicklaus just shuddered. His ass was still fevered and raw, his muscles ached, and he was quite sure some of his ribs had cracked. On top of all of that, his cock was so hard from the over-stimulation of his prostate that it pained him, and he whined as Sybil pulled him into her up to the hilt. Unable to plant his feet on the floor, he just dangled as Sybil pulled and pushed on him as though he were nothing more than a toy. Accordingly, he let his body go limp. He wanted to just pass out, to surrender his consciousness and just have a few moments of sweet oblivion where he couldn’t see or hear or feel anything anymore. He wondered if that was how Eddie felt.

Eddie, meanwhile, just watched helplessly as Sybil kept bumping up against him, moaning and gasping. He noticed she was clutching something in her hand. She slid out her thumb from her fist, and with it, a short blade poked out from its plastic sheathing. Eddie tried to shout out to Nicklaus, but the glove in his mouth muffled his cries. She pushed Nicklaus’ shoulder back with her free hand, and lifted her other hand into the air, so that Nicklaus and Eddie both could get a good look at the box-cutter she wielded.

The screech Nicklaus made was cut off when Sybil moved her free hand to his throat, reducing it to a strangled squawk. As she squeezed on his windpipe, she moved the blade over his chest, and let it hover over his right nipple. Eddie thrashed against his restraints furiously and spewed muffled curses as Sybil grinned, and she lowered the knife to Nicklaus’ skin.

The blade sliced through his pale flesh and cut through his nipple, leaving in its wake a bright, red, slanted trail. Nicklaus yelped in pain, and she drew another line in his skin with the blade connecting to the first. She made another, and another, moving over his chest as she drove him inside of her. Eddie winced and turned his head, only to see Brandon sitting in the chair still, watching the proceedings with a lecherous look in his eyes. Eddie glared at him. Brandon didn’t seem to notice.

She’d made 19 cuts into his skin before she let the box-cutter clatter to the floor and she wrapped her limbs tight around Nicklaus’ body as she fucked him hard and fast. Nicklaus hunched over as far as he could, making that stifled snort he only ever made when he climaxed. His whole body was racked with tremors as he gave into his exhaustion. His body went limp as his semen gushed into her, and he slumped forward, and Sybil groaned in ecstasy as she fell back against Eddie. Eddie turned his head and finally got a glimpse of the damage done to Nicklaus’ chest. Carved into his flesh, in jagged, red letters, was a single, ugly word:

“WHORE”

“There,” said Sybil, catching her breath as she admired her work. “ _Now_ you’re finished.”

Nicklaus’ cock spat out one last, pitiful spurt of cum that dribbled down like snot, and his head fell forward. Sybil nudged him with her foot, and he dangled, completely unresponsive.

“I think you broke him,” said Brandon.

“I don’t want him conked out just yet,” she said. “I don’t think he‘s gonna want to miss this.” She sat back up and slid off the table. With one hand, she bent over and pulled up her panties back up around her waist, and approached Nicklaus. “Wake up.”

There was no response.

Sybil swung back her arm and slapped Nicklaus across the face with an open palm. Nicklaus’ head rolled on his shoulders and groaned. She swung her arm back the other way, backhanding him, and he blinked his eyes open. “Nyuh…” was all he managed to get out.

“Oh, right,” she said. “Let me help you with that.” She reached down between his legs, curling her fingers behind his balls, and pressed the vibrator’s button sticking out from the prostate stimulator still lodged in his ass. “Better?”

“Zuh… Zier--”

“English, Nickie.”

“Pull it out…” Nicklaus rasped.

“Fine,” Sybil huffed. She went behind Nicklaus and muttered to herself as she slowly worked the toy out of him. Nicklaus sighed, and his muscles went limp. Sybil stood up on her tip-toes and planted a kiss on his sweaty forehead. “Don’t pass out on me again, ‘kay?”

“I’ll try,” Nicklaus said. It was a thoughtless response, borne out of reflex more than genuine consideration. Sybil just patted him on the cheek.

She then turned around and loomed over Eddie, grinning as she yanked the glove out of his mouth. Eddie coughed and sputtered, and his eyes watered. She leaned in close to him, her face inches from his. “Hello, Eddie.”

“Go to hell,” he snarled.

“I don’t think you should be mean to me, Professor,” she said, stroking his hair. “You’re in bigger trouble than Nickie is.”

“So you gonna burn me and carve somethin’ into my chest too?” Eddie asked. “Shove somethin’ up my ass while you’re at it?”

“Oh, you’ll wish I had,” said Sybil. “I promise you that.” She climbed on top of him, and straddled his torso as she placed her hands on his chest. “Did it hurt though, Eddie?”

“Did what hurt?” Eddie asked.

“When you watched what we did to Nick,” she said. “Did it hurt you?”

Eddie winced. He glanced over at Nicklaus, who still appeared to be dazed as blood seeped out from the wounds on his chest. He looked back to Sybil. “You expect me to watch that horrorshow with…with some sense of dispassion?”

“Oooh, ‘dispassion,’” said Sybil. “I like it when you talk like an actual professor, Professor.”

“Kinda why I fell out of the habit,” Eddie replied. “But yes, Sybil, it _did_ hurt me.”

“How bad?” she asked.

Eddie looked at her askance. He felt as though he were about to step into a bear trap. “Why’re you asking?”

“Tell me how bad,” she persisted.

“I’d rather not,” said Eddie.

“Why?” Sybil asked. “Do you think Nicklaus would hurt worse than you?”

Eddie’s jaw clenched. His stomach lurched, and he wanted nothing more than to run away, but his bonds held fast. He settled for just glaring at her.

“Let’s find out,” she said, and hopped off of him. As she went back to the work bench, Brandon sat up straighter. She turned the volume on the radio up, and now Talking Heads was playing. Eddie cursed the DJ that decided to play “Psycho Killer” at this particular moment.

“Was it easy for you to shove your cry for help in the mouth of a man you violated?” she asked. “Was it easy to desecrate him again?”

“I recall that earlier desecration being entirely your idea,” said Eddie.

“Is that a ‘yes?’”

Again, Eddie didn’t answer. Sybil stepped into his view again. She was holding a rubber hose, the ends of which were wrapped around her palms as she stretched the hose out between clenched fists. She untwisted one end, and let it snap against her freshly-gloved hand.

“So,” she asked, “did you feel anything at all? Using a dead man’s body like that?”

“I was just bein’ pragmatic,” he said. “If you’re tryin’ to guilt me over doing what I could to escape, it’s not gonna work.”

“Oh?” Sybil tilted her head.

“Don’t act like you wouldn’t do the same if it was you,” said Eddie. “I know you would.”

“Yes,” said Sybil, “but I’m not under the delusion that I’m a good person who doesn’t deserve this kind of treatment.”

“And what the hell did I do that would make me deserve this?” Eddie snapped.

“Well,” she said, as she put a gloved hand on his left shin, “this particular punishment, right now, is for defying me. But as for what you did to wind up with me…” She looped one end of the hose underneath his calf, and pulled it upwards. She then tied it around his calf, and pulled it tight until Eddie’s foot began to go numb. “I’m sure you’ll think of it eventually.”

Eddie lifted his head to look down at his leg. He flexed his toes, and the rubber went taut against his calf muscles. What was she planning? Some kind of torture involving cutting his circulation off? Or could it be…?

His heart thudded in his chest like a bass drum. His mind began to race, and his breath quickened and turned shallow. He writhed on the table in an attempt to wrench any one of his limbs free. The restraints did not give. His head throbbed as the panic took hold of him, and he his chest grew tight.

“Eddie?” Nicklaus slurred, still not sounding completely lucid. “Eddie, what’s going on?”

Brandon scooted forward in his chair, close to the table, and pulled out his cell phone from his pocket. He fiddled with it, and cast Eddie a quick smirk. Eddie responded with the dirtiest glare he could muster. Brandon chuckled.

“You fucked up, Eddie,” Sybil said, looking over the wall. “You thought you were smart, but you weren’t smart enough.”

“Eddie?” Nicklaus piped up again. “What’s happening?”

“You should pay attention, Nick,” said Brandon. “Maybe you’ll learn something.”

Sybil picked up the strap she’d used to gag Nicklaus off the workbench, and tucked it under her arm. She slipped on a fresh pair of gloves, and flexed her fingers.

“Sybil,” said Eddie, doing all he could to suppress the rising panic in his voice. “If you’re about to do what I think you’re going to do… don’t do it.”

“And what do you think I’m going to do, Professor?” Sybil asked with feigned innocence.

“Something that could _kill_ me,” Eddie said, “and then what? I’m useless to you dead. Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not gonna let you die, Professor,” she said, as though she were soothing a frightened child. “You’re not allowed to die.” She reached towards the wall, and lifted a hand-held rotary saw from its pegs. “So don’t you worry about that.”

“What is she talking about?” Nicklaus asked. He was slowly becoming more alert, and he lifted his heavy head to look around. “Eddie? What… what’s happening?”

“Eddie’s about to get exactly what he deserves,” said Sybil. She grabbed a length of extension cord, and hooked it to the saw before plugging it into an outlet. She then twirled around, her hair swishing across her face as she held the saw up high so that both Eddie and Nicklaus could see. She pressed on the trigger twice, and it let out a metallic whine as the blade spun and stopped.

“Fuck you, I don’t deserve this!” Eddie protested, writhing on the table. “I don’t deserve you hackin’ off my goddamned legs!”

“What?” Nicklaus’ voice cracked. “No. No! You can’t!”

“Hell yeah she can,” said Brandon, holding up his phone as he pressed record.

“Oh, Eddie, it’s just the one,” she said, as though scolding a child scared of getting a shot. She set down the saw on the table, right next to Eddie’s head. “Besides, do you even really need it? It’s not like you’re going anywhere. I’m sure you’ll learn to adapt.”

“No!” Nicklaus cried out. “No, no, no! Please! Please don’t do that to him, please don’t take his leg, Mistress, please!”

Sybil looked back to Nicklaus, and then to Eddie, who glared at her as though he were trying to kill her with the sheer power of his will. Nicklaus continued to babble.

“Think about what you’re doing,” Nicklaus pleaded. “Mistress, please. You can’t… it’s too much! Please… please…” The last word came out as a pitiful squeak. His eyes turned dewy with fresh tears. Eddie squirmed in place as Nicklaus began to softly sob.

Sybil tilted her head, and approached Nicklaus. She cupped the side of his face with a gentle hand, and caressed his cheek. “Oh, Nicklaus,” she said. “How long have you felt this way about Eddie?”

Nicklaus jaw slackened as he gawped at her. “Whuh… what?”

“Don’t play dumb, Nick,” she said. “I’ve seen the way you look at him. You’re begging harder for me not to hurt him than he did for you.”

Eddie cringed. He wanted to object, but the lump that had formed in his throat prevented him from doing so. Instead, he just looked queasy.

Brandon’s mouth formed a giddy “o.” “Oh, ho ho ho ho,” he laughed. “Oh, this is getting _really_ interesting.”

“He’s my friend,” Nicklaus said, trying to sound defiant but instead only sounding weak. “Why… why shouldn’t I care about him?”

“But it’s more than that,” said Sybil. “You’re pretty touchy-feely for somebody who sees him as ‘just a friend.’ I mean, you’re kinda coming off as pretty thirsty.”

“Thirsty?” Nicklaus asked.

“Thirsty for his dick,” Brandon said with a smirk.

“You’re a terrible liar, Nickie,” said Sybil. “Admit it. You’ve fallen for him. Hard.”

Nicklaus looked to Eddie, his eyes pleading with him. Eddie could offer him nothing as Nicklaus pinned him down with those sad eyes.

“Oh, does he not know?” Sybil asked. “You didn’t tell him?”

“I haven’t… I haven’t told him anything,” Nicklaus stammered.

“Why not?” Sybil asked. “Scared of rejection? Or are you just shy?”

Eddie wasn’t sure if it was the lack of circulation in his leg, Sybil’s smug tone or the pitiful whimpering coming from Nicklaus, but Eddie felt a sick wave of nausea crash into his gut. He wanted to speak up, to tell Sybil to knock it off and just get her torture over with, but instead he clamped his mouth shut as his throat started to burn with acid.

“Nobody likes a pussy, Nick,” said Brandon. He aimed his phone toward Nicklaus. “C’mon. We all know you got the jones for his bone. So, you gonna spit it out already, or are you just gonna swallow it like a bitch?”

“If he did spit it out, that’d be a first,” said Sybil. “C’mon, Nick. Tell Eddie how you _really_ feel.”

“Yeah,” said Brandon. “After all, she could fuck up and then you’d never have another opportunity to tell him.”

“Oh my God, Brandon, shut up, I’m not going to fuck it up,” Sybil snapped back at him. “I know what I’m doing, geez. I researched the fuck out of this, okay?”

Eddie vomited a bit in his mouth, tasting the waffles from that morning all over again. He braced himself, and swallowed it. It didn’t help much.

“So, tell him, Nickie,” said Sybil. “Don’t keep us waiting. Tell him. Tell him you love him.”

“Mistress, please,” Nicklaus whined. “Please… stop it…”

“Say it!” Sybil growled at him. “Fucking say it and stop wasting our time,” she grabbed a hold of Eddie’s head, and whipped it to face Nicklaus as she brandished the power saw against his ear, “or else he’s gonna be losing more parts.” She pressed the trigger again, and lowered the spinning saw blade, slowly, towards Eddie’s ear. Eddie’s entire body seized as the teeth barely nicked the tip of the helix of his ear.

“NO!” Nicklaus cried out. “PLEASE DON’T!”

“Then you’d better say it while he can still hear you,” said Sybil shouted.

“ALRIGHT!” Nicklaus shouted, with bass in his voice for the first time that night. Sybil let go of the trigger, and the saw stopped spinning. “Alright,” he said again, his voice quiet. “I… I love him. Is that… is that what you wanted to hear?”

“You’re gonna have to speak up,” said Sybil. “I wanna make sure Eddie hears you loud and clear. Isn’t that right, Eddie?”

Eddie grunted underneath Sybil’s hand. He inhaled deeply through his nostrils, and prayed this would be over soon.

“Yeah, faggot,” said Brandon. “Fucking spill your guts already.”

“Eddie,” said Nicklaus, speaking louder, “it’s true, Eddie. It’s true. I’m in love with you.”

“Goddammit, Nick,” Eddie muttered.

“I know you don’t feel the same way,” Nicklaus added abruptly. “I _know_ that. It’s selfish. _I’m_ selfish. I’m just a selfish, silly old man…”

“Nick, you’re delirious,” said Eddie.

“I don’t care!” said Nicklaus. “I’m sorry, Eddie. You don’t deserve to carry my emotional burdens. You already carry too much on your own. I’m sorry this is happening. I’m sorry, Eddie. I’m so, so sorry… I… I just love you so much…” He petered off, the utter exhaustion finally claiming him as he hung his head and fell silent.

“That’s it?” asked Brandon.

“Aw, honey, he’s very tired,” said Sybil in a motherly tone. She shook her head and clucked her tongue. “Do you feel any better, sweetie?”

“I just want to go to home,” Nicklaus said quietly.

“Oh, Nick,” she sighed. “You _are_ home.”

Nicklaus said nothing, looking like a man completely and utterly defeated. Satisfied, Sybil smirked, and took her hand off of Eddie’s head. She set the saw back down and grabbed the leather strap she was still holding under her arm. “Open up,” she said to Eddie. “You’re gonna need it.”

“Fuck you, you evil little--” Eddie was cut off by the strap as it was shoved into his mouth. Sybil lifted Eddie’s head to fasten the strap in place, muffling Eddie’s continued curses.

“There,” she said. “Now I think we’re finally ready.” She adjusted her gloves, and picked the saw back up. As she walked past Nicklaus towards the other end of the table, Eddie felt his skin grow cold. His pores started to ooze a chilly sweat as Sybil rested a hand on his foot, and he felt pins and needles prickle over his entire lower leg. He wiggled his toes and flexed his foot, hoping maybe he could get some blood back into his limb… or at least, be able to move it one last time.

Brandon followed Sybil with his camera as she powered up the saw, sizing up Eddie’s leg. The whirring blade hovered over Eddie’s leg, and Eddie could feel his heart thudding like bass drum in against his ribs. His throat constricted until he felt as though he was being choked, and his neck and shoulders burn from the tension as the teeth of the saw tickled the hairs on his leg. He felt more aware of everything around him; the cool air seeping in from outside, the sound of crickets and peepers chirping trying to overtake the song by The Cure on the radio, the smell of blood and sweat and semen, and a fly buzzing by the lightbulb. It bumped its fat, black body against the glass, making the smallest little “dink” sound, and fled in drunken loop-de-loops out of his sight, into the shadows.

Sybil took a deep breath, and lowered the saw, slicing through the skin on Eddie’s leg, the teeth biting into his shin as hot blood sprayed onto her unguarded face. Eddie threw back his head and bellowed through the belt in his mouth. She pressed the blade deeper, shredding through bone and gristle, and Eddie’s screaming raised in pitch as he bit down on the leather harder.

“Hold still!” Sybil shouted, pushing down on Eddie’s knee. “Hold fucking still, you big baby!” She pushed down harder and sliced through his shinbone. Eddie roared in agony as he thrashed against the table, thumping against the stained wood surface. He could hear his own bone cracking and splintering as the pitch of the saw blade lowered, and he feel his blood rushing from his head to seep out the wound. He felt his head become lighter, and he vaguely remembered being ten years old and breaking his arm when he fell out of a tree. The pain had been more than he could bear at the time. He had felt snapped bone grind against bone, lighting up his every nerve with nothing but fiery anguish shooting from his arm to his brain.

That pain was nothing compared to the saw grinding through his bone marrow.

It was too much. Eddie tossed his head aside and spewed the contents of his stomach across the table in one sudden, violent expulsion. Brandon let out a cry that sounded half-disgusted and half-impressed, and laughed. Sybil stopped what she was doing.

“Oh, sick,” she said. “Eddie, that’s disgusting.”

Eddie groaned. He lifted his head and looked down at his leg. The wound opened like a toothless, gaping mouth, drooling thick, hot blood over his blanching flesh, with the occasional spurt shooting up into the air. He tried to move his foot, only to be struck by a bolt of agony that shot up his leg straight into his spine as the exposed bone cracked and the wound flexed open and closed. His eyes were hot with tears and his nose was dribbling snot, as though the orifices were trying to keep up with his mouth in spewing bodily fluids. He barely had any respite before Sybil went back to work with her saw, completely cutting through his shin, and he howled as fresh pain flooded his senses.

It was at this point that black spots clouded his vision and his head felt like a lead balloon, somehow light and heavy at the same time. Brandon’s cruel laughter and Nicklaus’ horrified cries sounded as though they were muffled by cotton. Eddie felt as though he were in a barrel being pushed down a hill as everything spun around him, with the pain being the only thing keeping him anchored to the present. But as the black spots grew larger, he felt more as though he were being sucked down a bathtub drain, circling and circling until he fell into the dark.

Like a man fighting drowning, Eddie’s mind broke the surface back into consciousness for a few brief moments. He opened his eyes and saw the image of Sybil holding up the bloodied saw flash in front of his eyes. He closed his eyes again, and opened them again to see Brandon holding up Eddie’s severed leg, and Sybil laughing. He sank back down into darkness, and shot back up as his nerves burned and smoke burned his nostrils. He screeched as his flesh burned, and his teeth cleaved through the leather in his mouth. Nicklaus screamed again, and it went black. Eddie bobbed back up to the real world one last time, and saw Sybil straddling him, her naked, bloody breasts heaving.

And then Eddie blacked out completely.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

When Eddie opened his eyes again, it was dark. It was not completely dark, but it was dim. His eyes adjusted and scanned his surroundings; he was indoors with no windows, and his eyes roamed until they fell upon a familiar, wooden door. He was back in the guest room. He shifted his weight slightly, and felt the mattress underneath him give and the blanket on top of him rub against his skin, and light up the nerves in his leg in torment. He groaned, and turned his head. There was another door in front of him, slightly ajar and bleeding yellow light. Eddie could hear a faucet running, and someone coughing from deep within their chest.

“Nick?” Eddie mumbled. “That you?”

The door creaked open, and Nicklaus stood in the doorway. Eddie couldn’t see him very well, as he was backlit, but he noticed Nick’s hunched shoulders and bandaged chest. “Oh,” said Nick, his voice hoarse, “you’re finally awake.” He limped forward, tottering like an old man as he approached Eddie. “You were out for so long, I was afraid you wouldn’t wake up again.” He let out a wheezy chuckle that scraped against his chest before he doubled over coughing. He pounded his chest with a closed fist to shake whatever was in his lungs loose, and sniffed. “How are you feeling?”

Eddie let his head fall back onto his pillow and moaned.

“That bad?” Nicklaus asked. Carefully, he sat down on the foot of the mattress as though he were settling into a hot bath, and hissed as he gritted his teeth. “Are you in any pain at all?”

“Foot hurts,” Eddie slurred. “Hurts so bad.”

Nicklaus winced. “Your… your foot, you say?”

“Uh-huh,” said Eddie. His whole face felt hot. The pain in his leg felt as though it’d been crushed under a steamroller. “Please… it hurts…”

Nicklaus cleared his throat. “Right,” he said. “Hold on a moment.” Nicklaus placed his hands flat on the mattress and stood back up. As he turned around, Eddie noticed the bandages across Nick’s ass and his slightly bow-legged stance. Nicklaus slipped back into the bathroom, and vanished behind the door. He turned the faucet on again, and something rattled. The bathroom door opened again, and Nicklaus limped back to Eddie’s side, holding a glass of water. “Hold out your hand, please.”

Eddie flexed his fingers and lifted his arm, almost surprised to see that it wasn’t being clamped down. It still felt as though he had an anchor around his wrist as he presented Nick his upturned palm, and Nick dumped two very large, white pills into his other hand. Eddie popped them into his mouth as his fingers trembled, and Nicklaus presented him with the glass. Eddie grasped it, holding it as tight as his fingers would allow, and knocked the glass back hard enough that water dribbled out the sides of his mouth. Once he’d swallowed it all, he fell back onto his pillow, and closed his eyes. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“You’re welcome, Eddie,” said Nicklaus, and he stroked the top of Eddie’s head tenderly. Eddie sighed, and fell back asleep as the painkillers took hold.

Nick plucked the glass from Eddie’s fingertips, and planted a kiss on the man’s feverish forehead. He stood back up, and shuffled back to the bathroom, setting the empty glass on the sink by the faucet. Nicklaus looked at his reflection in the mirror; he looked gaunt and haggard. He looked so old.

He looked back to Eddie, and made his way back to the sofa bed. He stood over Eddie, looking the man over, and sighed. Between pinched fingers, Nicklaus grabbed a hold of the blanket and peeled it back from Eddie’s cold, clammy skin, until the bandaged stump where Eddie’s right leg used to be was fully exposed. The gauze had turned blotchy and red. It would need to be changed for the second time in almost two days. Every time Nicklaus looked at it, he’d feel his heart plummet down into his guts.

“Oh, Eddie,” he sighed. “I’m so sorry, my dearest.”


	5. Fox Hunt

Hubert Vogel was bent over the hotel room sink, his head tilted to one side as he stuck the spout of a small, ceramic kettle into his upper nostril. Carefully, he poured the saline solution into his nose, and it dribbled out his other nostril. He repeated this with his other nostril, and shook his head as he snorted out any excess water. He toweled off his face, and inhaled. A clear nasal passage meant a clear mind, and a clear mind was vital to a proper investigation.

Five months ago, Nicklaus Messmer, the eccentric founder and public face of the Messmer Confectionary Company in Munich, flew to the United States to secure a contract with a foreign investor. The company’s profit margin was in a slump, and according to Beatrix Messmer-Geist, his sister, he insisted on making this appeal in person with the intention of expanding distribution to North America. Besides, he’d told her, he hadn’t been to the States in over a decade and wanted to spend some extra time playing tourist. When she’d heard that her brother was headed for Baltimore, Beatrix objected loudly. She’d watched enough of The Wire to know that the city was too dangerous for someone as kindhearted and trusting as her brother. He was likely to get robbed or mugged. 

Vogel found himself wondering how a man such as that could manage to survive in the cutthroat world of business, but at the time, said nothing. However, he came to realize how he’d been so successful when Beatrix’s cell phone rang, and she excused herself. She had gone into another room, a small office, and Vogel could hear her bark out rapid-fire commands to whoever was on the other end, something about palates of defective product. So that was it, he thought. That made sense.

He did briefly mention to Beatrix that he had met her brother once, about three years ago at a charity event, though he declined any details beyond that. Vogel was invited by a friend of his who was a politician, and while Vogel didn’t much care for parties, he attended anyway, perhaps out of some sense of duty, and played the all-too-familiar part of the wallflower as he watched a gaggle of sharply dressed socialites talk about nothing over champagne and beer. Nicklaus was there, wearing a brilliant white suit with a peppermint-striped waistcoat, chatting up other guests and laughing in the way people did when they were schmoozing at events like these, shaking many hands and making many introductions. He eventually noticed Vogel, and locked eyes with him. Vogel tried to avert his gaze, not interested in exchanging pleasantries with this stranger, but it was too late. Nicklaus was now in front of him, his rosy cheeks barely containing a 1000 watt smile.

“Excuse me,” said Nicklaus, “I don’t believe I recognize you. Have we been acquainted?”

“We have not,” answered Vogel. The scent of women’s expensive perfume and alcohol was stifling.

Nicklaus stuck out his hand. “Nicklaus Messmer,” he introduced himself. “And you are?”

Vogel found it a bit odd that Messmer felt the need to introduce himself at all. Messmer’s face was one that a great deal of Germans who watched television knew from his commercials as Onkel Nicklaus. While old Onkel Nicklaus had been absent from those commercials over the past few years, his continued work as a philanthropist ensured that he would still make media appearances. Perhaps he was merely being polite.

Vogel shook his hand. “Inspector Hubert Vogel,” he said. As he leaned in, Vogel caught a sharp whiff of cognac on his breath (with a faint underpinning of peppermint oil and cocoa), and noted the somewhat glassy look in his eyes. This event had barely started and already Nicklaus appeared to have been quite inebriated.

“Inspector!” Nicklaus repeated, his cheeks puffing up as he let out an impressed “pfff” sound, and smiled. “Oh dear. I hope you’re not looking to arrest any of the guests, are you?”

“No,” said Vogel. “I was invited.”

“What a relief!” Nicklaus chuckled. “Though, I must admit, a jewel heist in the middle of this ball would certainly make things much more exciting, wouldn’t it?”

Vogel quirked an eyebrow. “I fail to see how people’s property being stolen would constitute excitement,” he said.

“Well,” said Nicklaus, brushing this off with a good-natured shrug, “it certainly works that way in the movies, at least.”

“Have you come here from another party?” Vogel asked.

Nicklaus squinted, and his smile faltered. He looked at Vogel as though he were staring at a bug on Vogel’s forehead, trying to determine how best to swat it without slapping the other man silly. “Another party?” he asked.

“Well,” said Vogel, “I just thought, perhaps, you’d been to a pre-party. You seem…” he searched for the right way to say this, “you seem as though you’ve been doing plenty of celebrating already.”

Finally, Nicklaus’ eyes widened, and he jolted, his posture becoming rigid. “Oh!” he said. “Yes, yes, the pre-party.” He laughed, and the corners of his eyes wrinkled into crow’s feet. His head lolled to the side slightly before he snapped it back upright. “Quite lively, quite pleasant. Have you met Frau Warner?”

“I don’t believe I have,” said Vogel. “Were you with her?”

“No, no,” said Nicklaus, sweeping his arm towards a woman in a dress as extravagant and gold as the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. “Odella Warner. I was speaking with her earlier. You know she’s in television production?”

Vogel didn’t respond, and regarded the young, dark-haired lady with a casual disinterest. “That dress,” he said finally, “is gaudy as hell.”

Nicklaus laughed, making a harsh, grating noise like a braying mule. He clapped a hand on Vogel’s shoulder, and Vogel winced as the man doubled over and leaned into him.

“I didn’t find that particularly funny,” said Vogel.

“Oh… oh, I suppose not,” said Nicklaus. He stood back up and wiped at the corner of his eye. “It was… it was just amusing to me, you know what I mean?”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” said Vogel. By this point, he could barely restrain himself from wrinkling his nose in irritation.

“Well,” said Nicklaus, finally taking his hand off of Vogel’s shoulder, “it was nice meeting you, Inspector Vogel. Perhaps we’ll chat later?”

“Perhaps we shall,” said Vogel. Nicklaus shook his hand again, and flagged down a new stranger to bother. Vogel walked away, and dusted off his shoulder. For the rest of that night he would not be able to get the scent of cognac and peppermint off his clothes, though when he got home, his wife assured him that she hadn’t noticed, and he was being fussy, as always. He hadn’t thought he’d ever cross paths with that strange, drunken man at the charity ball. He recalled this chance encounter when he’d visited Beatrix a week ago, and he recalled it now as he stood in a bathroom in the Hyatt Regency.

He hadn’t even been in this city a whole 24 hours and already he hated it here. The smell, a noxious mix of salt water, exhaust, sweat and human waste, struck him like a bolt of lightning as soon as he left the BWI Airport. How could anybody else even stand it? Were their noses as clogged as their arteries? He’d checked into his hotel that afternoon wearing a dust mask over his face, looking like a citizen of Beijing on a bad smog day.

Most people, apparently, were not in possession of such keen olfactory senses as Vogel. His ex-wife insisted he was just looking for reasons to complain about anything and everything, but his colleagues knew better. He’d been known as Der Bluthund; “The Bloodhound.” Gunpowder, blood, bleach, kerosene, cocaine… it didn’t matter what it was, so long as it had a scent, Vogel could detect it when his colleagues failed to notice. But it didn’t take a sensitive nose to catch the scent of something very fishy in this case, as the Americans would put it.

Vogel stepped out of the bathroom and loomed over the queen-sized hotel bed. Spread across the comforter were copies of all relevant documents made available to him by the police. Messmer was last seen leaving the Cat’s Eye Bar in Fell’s Point at around midnight. He had left alone, and was visibly and heavily inebriated, and was reported to be on his way to get a cab. Any further movements beyond his departure from the bar were still unknown. He’d last been seen with a young investor named Brandon Hamilton and his girlfriend, a woman named Ashleigh. No last name had been given for her, either. She hadn’t even been questioned. As soon as he’d read this, he confronted the investigating officer in charge, Detective Silas Polanski, and demanded an explanation. The reasoning for not getting a statement from her, according to the detective, was that it wouldn’t be any different from Hamilton’s.

“Wouldn’t make a goddamn lick a’ difference,” Polanski had said to Vogel, not even bothering to get up from his desk. “Hamilton says that he and his girl were together for the entire evening. We got witness testimony from multiple sources verifying that she didn’t even get up to powder her nose.” He took a sip of coffee from a dingy, off-white mug with “DO I LOOK LIKE A F*%@KING MORNING PERSON?!” emblazoned on it with thick, black letters, and placed the mug back onto the coffee-ringed stack of papers it had been resting upon.

“And you did not think that she could have seen something that Hamilton had not?” Vogel had asked him.

Polanski grunted. He crossed his thick, hairy forearms and furrowed his wooly caterpillar eyebrows. He looked almost like some Cro-Magnon man, and he smelled like coffee, donuts and armpit sweat. “I don’t think so,” he said. “That bar had a couple dozen people in it, and they all saw the same thing. If she had seen something different, she would a’ come forward.”

“You assume a lot of good faith on the part of this woman,” said Vogel, “so much good faith that you didn’t even write down her name.”

Polanski said nothing. He just frowned.

“That’s quite the oversight,” Vogel continued, “especially considering she spent most of that evening with the missing person in question.”

“You tellin’ me how to do my job?” Polanski snapped.

“I would not have to tell you how to do your job if you had been able to do it competently,” Vogel shot back. “Did you get her name at all?”

“Yeah,” said Polanski, shifting in his seat. “Ashley, I think. No…” His eyes narrowed in thought as he fixated on a spot on his desk, before his furry brows shot back up. “Ashleigh! It was Ashleigh.”

“Does this Ashleigh have a last name?” Vogel asked. He couldn’t suppress the contemptuous sneer that took over his face.

“Didn’t get it,” Polanski said. “Hamilton never brought it up.”

“And you didn’t ask for it?”

“Look,” Polanski stood up from his desk, his palms laid flat on the mess of papers covering his desk, “I know you think I’m stupid. You’ve got no other leads and you’re lookin’ for somebody to blame.”

“Perhaps you’re more intelligent than you let on, Detective,” Vogel said flatly.

“Look, I’m tryin’ to be nice, Inspector,” said Polanski, his diction careful and deliberate, “but you’re testin’ my fuckin’ patience. You’re not from around here, so I’m gonna lay this out for you since you can’t take a hint.” He jabbed a meaty finger toward Vogel. “Don’t make yourself a nuisance to the Hamiltons.”

“Is that a threat?” asked Vogel.

“It’s friendly advice,” said Polanski. “Rich, established family like that, you don’t give them too much trouble. You can go on ahead, ask the kid some questions, but you pry too much into his personal affairs, you’re askin’ for trouble.”

“Detective,” said Vogel, “if you’re implying I am putting myself at risk somehow by being thorough in my investigation, I am not deterred. I have a responsibility to my government to retrieve one of our citizens, and no rich boy or his family will keep me from fulfilling my obligation.”

“Alright,” Polanski put up his hands in defense, “I’m just sayin’.”

“That will be all, Detective Polanski,” said Vogel. “I’ll keep in touch.” With that last barb spat out, he turned and left the Detective’s desk. On his way past the other cubicles, he heard the good detective mutter some epitaph none-too-quietly within earshot. Appealing to Polanski’s superiors didn’t help much. It was clear that the local police were unreliable, to put it politely. The most helpful person he’d come across so far was that FBI agent who rattled off some theory that Messmer’s disappearance was linked to string of serial murders. At the time, it was easy to write it off as mere conjecture, but now that the idea had been planted, it was starting to take root. If Messmer had been killed by some lunatic while he was abroad, and the local police failed to stop his murder or catch the killer, they would be the ones to take the blame. The immediate question that came to mind was why they would neglect to follow up on a possible lead, with so much at stake.

Vogel picked up one of the papers spread across his bed, and examined it. It was the witness statement given by Brandon Hamilton. It was Hamilton that spoke on behalf of this “Ashleigh” he was with, and Hamilton who was last with Messmer. Perhaps, thought Vogel, it was time to pay Mr. Hamilton a visit.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The Hamilton building was a garish hunk of glass and steel alongside the Inner Harbor, gleaming a deep blue from the water. The sun hit the glass in such a way that Vogel had to shield his eyes and squint as he looked up at the building. With the hot July sun beating on his brow and the stink of salt water and sweat in the air, Vogel strode toward the entrance, his pace brisk and purposeful and his loafers pounding on the pavement like hammers. He pushed open one of the tall glass doors, and made his way inside.

The interior had a sort of minimalist but cavernous feel to it, and had all the hallmarks of every modern, hollow attempt to capture the atmosphere of a cathedral. There was a potted plant against the walls on either side, and a large, marble reception desk on the far end opposite of the entrance. The desk was attended to by a pretty, young receptionist, and to the left side of the desk were the elevators. There was a security guard stationed nearby, and as Vogel spotted him, he met the other man’s gaze. The security guard gave him a quick once-over, and lifted his chin, as though giving him permission to go on ahead. Vogel then made his way over the reception desk, and looked down at the receptionist.

The receptionist was a dark-haired woman with a bob cut, prim and petite, reading an issue of Fangoria and smelling like a birthday cake. Vogel could not understand why anybody would wear perfume that made them smell like a dessert; there seemed to be such a childlike quality to it that her stylish haircut, her elegant hoop earrings and her pristine white blouse came off as a façade.

“Excuse me,” said Vogel.

The receptionist’s head snapped up to meet Vogel. “Oh,” she said. Her shoulders relaxed. “How can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Mr. Brandon Hamilton,” said Vogel. “Of Hamilton Holdings Company?”

“Hamilton Holdings is on the 12 th through the 16 th floors,” she said as she made a vague gesture toward the elevators.

“And which floor is Mr. Hamilton’s office?”

“The 16 th ,” said the receptionist as Vogel started to move towards the elevators, “but you’re going to need to make an appointment--”

Vogel reached for his back pocket, and pulled out his ID for her to see. “I’m here on behalf of INTERPOL regarding the disappearance of a German national abroad,” he said. “That won’t be necessary.”

The receptionist just stared at him, goggle-eyed. Vogel went over to the elevators, and pressed the call -button. As the elevator doors opened, Vogel cast one last look towards the receptionist’s desk, and saw her leaning over it, craning her neck as she watched him step inside.

When the doors opened again, Vogel stepped out into the office space. There wasn’t much about the space that made it look any more distinctive than any other office; there were white walls decorated with non-offensive abstract art, open offices with white-collar men and women in front of computers or on telephones, and the sounds of ringing phones and soft talking. A few people looked up from their desks as they noticed Vogel, and watched as he walked past their desks. He stopped in the middle of the room, and scanned the room for some sign of Hamilton.

“Sir?”

Vogel looked over to the man that had spoken up. He looked to be in his mid 30’s, lanky and brown-skinned with a shaved head. He wore an expression of mild concern as he regarded Vogel. “Are you, uh, looking for something?” the man asked.

“Where is Brandon Hamilton’s office?”

“His office is around that corner to the left,” the man pointed to indicate the direction, “but he’s, uh, he’s in a meeting right now.”

“Where?”

“In the conference room,” the man said his arm sweeping as he continued pointing, and Vogel started off toward the direction indicated, “on the other side of the hall, but you’re going to have to wait--”

Vogel whirled around. “What is your name?”

The man blinked and stared. “Boyd Baxter,” he answered, “Why--?”

“Mr. Baxter, you would do well to mind your own business,” said Vogel, “and not interfere with a criminal investigation.” He marched off toward the conference room, and left the main office floor in shocked silence.

Vogel stalked towards the conference room, and turned his head towards the room’s large, glass windows. Inside, a group consisting mostly of men, were sitting around a long table, all focused on a slight, middle-aged man standing at the far end of the table in front of a Powerpoint presentation. Sitting on the far side of the table was a young man with chestnut-brown hair, looking at his smartphone with disinterest. Vogel rapped his knuckles against the glass, and two of the men inside glanced at him. The young man on his phone didn’t even flinch. The man giving the presentation wrinkled his nose in annoyance, but continued. Vogel knocked again, and pushed the glass door open.

“Excuse me,” said the man standing at the head of the table. “Do you mind? We’re in the middle of something here, sir.”

“I do mind,” said Vogel. He reached into his pocket and presented his badge. “I am Inspector Hubert Vogel, sent here on behalf of INTERPOL. I’m here to speak with Brandon Hamilton, I’d like to ask him a few questions.”

The man with the chestnut hair looked up from his phone, his eyebrows arched in mild surprise. The other men in the room exchanged wary glances, and then looked to Brandon. Brandon’s mouth turned into a confident smirk, and he shook his head in disbelief.

“Me?” he asked. “Can I ask what this is about?”

“I would prefer if you step outside, please,” said Vogel.

“Sure,” said Brandon. He pushed back his chair, and stood to his feet. He looked over the rest of the room, and smiled wide. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t tell him anything, boys. Your secrets are safe with me.” He winked at them, and the men in the room let out quiet, nervous laughter. Brandon shoved his phone into his back pocket, and approached Vogel, still wearing a cocksure grin. “You wanna take this to my office?”

“If you wish,” said Vogel.

Brandon shut the door behind them, and walked down towards the other end of the hall. Vogel followed, and noted Brandon’s gait; each swing of his leg a wide arc, his head tilted back slightly and his chin held high. Vogel took a discreet sniff of the air behind Brandon. His smell… it was hard to describe. It wasn’t overpowering or sharp, but it was still heady. Underneath the deodorant was a smell like rotting leather and old wood, with a faint, coppery scent. It made the hairs on Vogel’s neck prick up like the fur on a frightened cat’s back. Brandon stopped in front of a mahogany door at the end of the hall beside frosted glass windows. On the door was a brass plate with Brandon’s name and title etched into it. Brandon pushed the door open, and strode inside.

The first things that stood out to Vogel were the windows; they went from floor to ceiling, looking out over the Inner Harbor, and didn’t have a smudge on them. The office itself had the same blank spaciousness that the lobby had, with eggshell-white walls and a walnut desk. On the wall farthest from the door, there hung framed vinyl records, a signed Ravens jersey, and several photographs of Brandon standing next to an assortment of men that Vogel assumed were celebrities, though he didn’t recognize any of them. He leaned in close to one photo, and squinted.

“You like that?” Brandon asked as he leaned over his desk. “That’s me with Common, back in 2009. Saw him play live and I got to meet him backstage.”

“He is a musician?” Vogel asked.

“He’s a rapper,” said Brandon, as he took a seat in his Corinthian leather chair, “a hip-hop  _ artist.  _ I’ve met a lot of different artists. That photo of me with Dr. Dre? That was the second time I met him. I have a photo of the first, but it was 1999 and I was 13 years old and, you know...” he gave a shrug, “puberty and all that.”

“As fascinating as this is, I didn’t visit you just so you could show off all the big stars you’ve met, Mr. Hamilton,” said Vogel. “I came to ask you some questions about a missing person.”

“INTERPOL sent you here on a missing person’s case?” Brandon asked.

“You seem surprised,” said Vogel, “especially considering your involvement in a missing person’s case just five months ago.”

“Oh!” Brandon exclaimed. He sat up straighter in his chair. “Oh, you mean Messmer! You guys still haven’t found him yet?”

“No thanks to your incompetent police,” Vogel said as his lip curled up into a sneer. “There are still many questions left unanswered.”

“Like what?” Brandon leaned back in his chair again.

“Well,” said Vogel, as he tucked his hand into his pocket, “for starters, why was your girlfriend Ashleigh not questioned?” He pressed one button on his phone, and switched on the recording app.

“Because she didn’t see anything I didn’t see, dude,” said Brandon. “The police didn’t take statements from every single person in that bar, there was like 70 people in there.”

“But Messmer was only there with two other people,” Vogel replied. “They questioned only you, and they did not even get Ashleigh’s last name.”

“Look, the cops swung by while I was at work,” said Brandon. “I told them what happened, and since they never spoke to Ash, I guess they didn’t feel like it was that important.” He put up his hands, palms towards Vogel, and shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell ya.”

“Then I suppose you wouldn’t mind if I spoke with her.”

Brandon’s eyes turned the ceiling as his hands went onto his lap. “She’d have to agree to that.”

“If she doesn’t, she would be obstructing what could turn out to be a criminal investigation.”

“But you don’t even know for sure,” said Brandon. “How do you know he just didn’t decide to run off somewhere with some hot young guy like 30 years younger than him or something?”

“How did you know Messmer was a homosexual?”

Brandon swept his bangs out of his eyes. “I think he might’ve mentioned it offhand.”

“And in what context could he have possibly mentioned it?”

“I think… I think it was at the bar,” said Brandon. He looked down at his desk in thought. “We were drinking, you know? Sometimes things like that come out.”

“He was drinking as well?”

“Well, I mean, yeah,” said Brandon. “That’s kind of what you do at a bar.”

“And whose idea was it to go to this bar?”

“Mine.”

“And how did he react to this proposal?”

“You know, he did that thing, you know,” Brandon sat forward and in a split second his entire demeanor changed; his shoulders hunched coyly, his eyes smiled, and he started gesticulating with his hands as he suddenly adopted a familiar accent and inflection, “‘oh no, I couldn’t possibly, I should get going, I have plans for tomorrow.’” As quickly as he transformed into Nicklaus Messmer, he morphed back into Brandon Hamilton. “Doing all that polite shit. But, you know, the girlfriend talked him into it and he agreed to it.”

“She insisted that he come with you?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?” Brandon twisted his mouth in annoyance.

“I wanted to make sure,” said Vogel. “Do you know why she was so insistent?”

“I guess she liked his accent.” Brandon shrugged again, and Vogel found himself wishing he could shove the man’s shoulders down into place.

“And how did the three of you get along that night?” Vogel pressed. “Were there any disputes between you?”

“No,” said Brandon, shaking his head.

“Did Messmer do or say anything unusual or suspicious?”

“Not really.”

“Did he drink to excess?”

“He had like, two beers.”

“Did he… proposition you, perhaps?”

“‘ _ Proposition _ ’ me?” Brandon echoed, chuckling in disbelief.

“Sexually,” Vogel clarified.

“No, no, I know what you meant,” said Brandon. “But no, Inspector, he didn’t try and ‘proposition’ me. We had some drinks, he told us he was gonna go back to his hotel, and then he walked out. He said he was gonna get a cab. We didn’t see him again after that.”

“Did you see him call a cab?”

“No, he said he was just gonna flag one down,” said Brandon. “We thought he’d be fine, you know?”

“Well, I regret to inform you that he was very likely not fine,” said Vogel. His expression turned grim. “The reason why he so politely declined your invitation to the bar, Mr. Hamilton, was because Nicklaus Messmer is a recovering alcoholic.”

Brandon’s eyebrows arched up in surprise. “Really?”

“He’d been sober for two years,” said Vogel.

“Well, he could have said no.”

“He tried,” said Vogel. “He caved into your girlfriend’s persuasion.”

“If he gave in, he probably wanted to drink anyway,” said Brandon. “Not my fault he decided to cheat.”

Vogel frowned, and his face turned into that of a gargoyles. His sunken, steel-grey eyes bored into Brandon’s like a brand on leather. “Where is Ashleigh?”

“I dunno, probably out,” Brandon said.

“Out doing what?”

“What, do I look like her keeper?”

“Then perhaps you can tell me how I can contact her.”

There was a moment’s hesitation as Brandon’s gaze went through Vogel, penetrating him as though he were a veil. “I don’t think I can do that, Inspector.”

“And why not?” asked Vogel.

Brandon leaned forward over his desk, all the cockiness in his posture gone. “To be perfectly honest,” he said, “I wouldn’t know it.”

Vogel recoiled slowly. Brandon’s face turned smug, and he looked like a man who was just about to win a poker match, and was just moments away from placing his cards down. “If this is a joke, then it’s not very funny.”

“I’m serious,” said Brandon.

“And why is that?” Vogel wondered if this was a trap of some kind.

Brandon heaved a dramatic sigh, exhaling through puckered lips and sounding like a weary horse. He looked up at Vogel through his bangs. “This is pretty embarrassing to admit, but…”

“You are wasting my time,” said Vogel. “Spit it out.”

“Ashleigh was an escort,” said Brandon.

Vogel blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“I hired her,” said Brandon. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“She was a prostitute--” Vogel started, but was cut off.

“Ah, ah, ah, ah,” Brandon wagged his index finger at Vogel. “Not a prostitute, an escort. She’s classier than that.”

“I don’t wish to debate semantics with you,” said Vogel. “You mean to tell me because she was an escort, you don’t have any way of contacting her?”

“She changes numbers a lot,” said Brandon. “Nature of the business. Even if I did get a hold of her, I couldn’t guarantee that she’d even talk.”

“Can you at least give me her full name?”

“She said it was Ashleigh Waller,” said Brandon, “but I don’t think it’s her real name anyway.”

“Then do you have a photograph?”

“Not on me, no.”

He was  _ lying. _

Of that much, Vogel was sure, but for now, Brandon appeared to be a dead end. He’d need to find some kind of leverage in order to get anything more out of Brandon. He stood up straight, and said nothing.

“I’m not a suspect, am I?” asked Brandon.

“I’ve yet to determine that.”

“Well, if I was, what motivation would I even have to go after the guy?” Brandon asked. “We’d settled on a deal, we were on good terms. Why would I go and jeopardize that new revenue by killing or kidnapping the guy, or whatever?”

“I don’t know,” said Vogel, “but I suppose there’s always the possibility that you’re just a murderous lunatic.”

Brandon laughed. “That’s good,” he said, and wagged a finger at Vogel. “That’s good, man. That’s funny.”

Vogel’s expression remained as grim and nonplussed as ever. “I’m glad you think so.” He reached into his breast pocket, and pulled out a business card, held between his index and middle fingers. “Should you happen to get in contact with Ashleigh again, or you remember anything useful,” he presented the card to Brandon, “call me.”

Brandon plucked the card from Vogel’s grasp, and gave it a quick glance over before he slipped it into his back pocket. “Okay,” he said. “I hope you find your guy, Inspector.”

“Don’t worry,” said Vogel, “I fully intend to.”

“Good luck,” said Brandon. His mouth curled into a derisive smirk.

Vogel suppressed the urge to cringe. “Thank you,” he said. “Good day, Mr. Hamilton.”

As Vogel turned to leave, Brandon called after him, “See you around, Inspector!”

Vogel glanced over his shoulder. Brandon’s face had that hot-streak smugness to it again, and Vogel could practically hear the clatter of poker chips being pulled back in Brandon’s eager arms. He reached back into his pocket and pressed the screen to stop the recording on his phone, and he walked out of the office.

The eyes of every employee followed Vogel to the elevator. When the brass doors closed, Vogel gave a sigh of relief. He would have to come back again, of course, but for now, he needed to move on. As he exited the elevator on the first floor, going through the lobby past the secretary saying something he didn’t hear and out the front doors, he looked at his phone. He’d gotten the recording. Once outside, he squinted in the harsh sunlight, and tucked his phone back into his pocket. He needed to keep moving.

Not far from the entrance of the building, a man in ragged clothes stood on the street corner, holding up a cardboard sign reading “HOMELESS PLEASE HELP GOD BLESS.” As Vogel headed towards the street corner, he caught a whiff of body odor and human filth, and shuddered in disgust. He stopped, and looked at the pitiful man, with his wild hair and his discolored army jacket and his shoes falling apart on his feet. The man hadn’t noticed him yet. Vogel reached into his back pocket for his billfold, and as he approached the man, he flashed a 50 dollar bill in his face.

“Take it,” said Vogel, “and for God’s sake, please take a bath. I could smell you from three meters away.” The man stared at him, dumbstruck, as he took the bill from his hand, and Vogel walked off before the man could even say “thank you.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

After a short cab ride from the Inner Harbor, Vogel stepped out onto the cobblestone streets of Fell’s Point. Already it was a step up from the garish tourist trap that was the harbor; the Point was made of many old, brick buildings with narrow alleyways that still managed to let in enough light to be welcoming, and the traffic consisted of people either on their bicycles or walking their dogs. It was still daylight, however. He’d been told the atmosphere changed drastically once the sun went down. With that in mind, he looked up at The Cat’s Eye Bar in front of him, looking over the sign with the howling cat-man-pirate, and went inside.

The interior of the bar had that bizarre, knick-knack aesthetic that only seemed to appeal to Americans. There was barely any bare space on the wall between the hundreds of framed photographs, and multiple flags hung from its ceiling. It would have felt claustrophobic had there actually been anyone else there aside from a single bartender and one lone patron seated in a booth towards the back. Vogel approached the bar, and looked at the bartender, a stocky woman with a beehive ‘do who had her back towards him as she counted bottles with tip of her pen.

“Excuse me, madam?”

She turned around, and instantly she switched into customer service mode. “Oh, hey there, hon!” she said, and leaned over the bar. “What can I get for ya?” He took a seat at the bar.

Vogel glanced over the levers on the tap. “Glass of Widmer, please.”

“Sure thing,” she said. She grabbed a glass and pulled one of the levers, filling it to the brim with golden beer. She used a scraper to cut through the foam crowning at the top, and slid it in front of Vogel. “There you go.”

“Thank you, madam,” he said, lifting the tall glass to his lips and taking a sip.

“I hope you don’t mind me bein’ nosy,” she said, “but is it normal to be hangin’ around bars at 12:30 in the afternoon where you come from?”

Vogel glanced at her from over his glass. “Why do you ask?”

“You look like a guy who’s here on a mission,” she said. “Am I right?”

“Perhaps,” said Vogel. “What makes you say that?”

“Just a vibe I get from ya,” she said. “You seem like a really serious type a’ guy. The kinda guy who gets married to his job, you know?”

“You’re quite observant,” Vogel noted.

“You work a job like this, you get a good feel for people,” she crossed her arms and rested her bust upon them. “So, are you a private investigator ?”

“No,” said Vogel. He set down his glass and pulled out his badge from his pocket. “I’m a BKA agent here on behalf of INTERPOL.”

“BKA?”

“Germany’s FBI,” he explained. “I’m looking for a missing German national.”

“It’s that candy guy, isn’t it?”

Vogel perked up. “Yes, it is,” he said. “Nicklaus Messmer. He was last seen here on February the 22 nd . Did you happen to see him?”

“I sure did,” she said. She pulled out one hand, and held it out to Vogel. “My name’s Lois, by the way.”

“Inspector Hubert Vogel,” he said. He shook her hand. She smelled like beer and pomade.

“Welcome to Charm City, Huey,” she said. “Sorry you couldn’t drop by under more pleasant circumstances.”

“It’s fine,” said Vogel. “I’m fairly used to it. So, about Messmer…”

“Oh right, right,” she said. “Candy Man. I was workin’ that night, so yeah, I saw him. Kinda hard to forget a guy like that; he was like a cross between Willy Wonka and Werner Herzog. So polite, though. Friendly, too. I think he might a’ been flirtin’ with me. He was kinda cute, you know, for an older guy. You know if he’s single?”

“I’m afraid he would not be interested.”

“Oh, what, is he married? Or gay?” she sighed. “The good ones always are.”

“Did you notice anything unusual about his behavior, or the behavior of his companions?”

“Not that I could tell,” said Lois. “But then again, I don’t have much to compare it to, and, you know, I’m dealing with a million other people at the same time.”

“Do you remember how much he had to drink?”

“I dunno… I feel like it wasn’t that much,” said Lois. Her eyes turned upward. “I served him two Flying Dogs myself. I remember seeing him leave and I guess he must be a lightweight, because he looked pretty wasted.”

“I highly doubt that,” said Vogel.

“Yeah, that’s about what I thought at first,” she said, “German guy not being able to hold his liquor like that? But then I thought, ‘well, he seems like an odd type of guy, maybe he’s not actually a big drinker, or maybe he had more to drink than I thought.’”

“Did you ever think that perhaps he had been drugged?” Vogel asked.

“Gosh, I didn’t really consider it,” she said, resting her chin in her palm. “You know, most people I seen drugged, they’re young women, you know? Maybe young guys. I didn’t think anybody would go around druggin’ some middle-aged guy. Normally that’s the kinda guy that’d be doin’ the drugging.”

“I know what you mean,” said Vogel. “What of his companions?”

“Oh, that guy and that girl?” said Lois. “That guy comes in here sometimes. I thought it was weird he wasn’t in with some large group, ‘cause usually when I see him come in, he’s with a bunch a’ other people. So already it was kinda weird he only came in with the Candy Man and that spooky girl.”

Vogel’s eyebrows arched. “Spooky girl?”

“Yeah,” said Lois. “There was just… somethin’ about her that didn’t sit right with me. I think it was her eyes. She had these big, spooky eyes. They were unsettling.”

Vogel set down his beer. This is the first description of Ashleigh he’d ever gotten. “What else can you tell me about her? What did she look like?”

“Well,” said Lois, “she was this skinny little Minnie, like a baby deer almost. I’d seen that guy, Brandon whatever, come in with a lot of girls, but none like her. He likes his girls busty and blonde and all bubbly with some cleavage showing, but this girl… her chest was as flat as a board and she was pretty frosty to anybody that wasn’t Brandon or Candy Man. I don’t even think she drank anything all night, so I don’t even know for sure how old she was.” 

“Interesting,” said Vogel. “Do you remember anything else? Hair color, height, any other distinguishing features?”

“It’s hard to remember a whole lot besides those spooky eyes,” said Lois. “She had blue eyes. Really pale blue eyes. She was real pale, too. Caucasian. Height was… average, I guess. She was shorter than Candy Man. Her hair was… brown, I think? Kinda in a bob? Maybe she was wearin’ glasses. That’s all I can remember.”

Vogel knocked back the rest of his glass, and brought it down back to the counter like a hammer. “Thank you, Lois,” he said. “You have been incredibly helpful.”

“Oh, sure,” she said with a smile, “anytime, Huey. I’m glad I could help you out.”

“One last question, however,” said Vogel, “do you remember about where Messmer and his companions were in the bar?”

“Yeah, I do,” said Lois. She pointed towards the back, “they were right where Morty’s sitting right now.”

Vogel turned around, and looked at the only other patron in the bar. The man’s head was topped in a shock of white hair, standing from his scalp like a broom. He was wearing round, purple-sunglasses and smoking a cigarette, even though he was indoors. But most noticeable about this man was the right sleeve of his weathered, green army jacket rolled up and pinned against his shoulder; he was missing the arm that would have gone through it.

“Isn’t it against the law to smoke in bars in America?” Vogel asked.

“Yeah, most of ‘em,” said Lois, and she raised her voice, “not like that old buzzard gives two shits!”

“Worst law passed in this country in decades,” Morty spoke up. “What a sad goddamned state of affairs.”

“That’s ‘cause not everybody is okay with gettin’ lung cancer!” Lois hollered back.

“I should be so lucky,” said Morty.

“Aren’t you going to ask him to leave?” Vogel asked.

“Trust me,” said Lois, “it ain’t worth the trouble.”

Vogel got off his stool and headed toward the back of the bar. As he approached, Morty sat completely still, not looking up from the space across the table he was staring into. Vogel stopped short of the booth, and looked over it.

“You wanna ask me something or are ya just gonna stare at me all day?” Morty asked.

“If you don’t mind,” said Vogel, “I’d like to take a seat.”

“Be my guest,” said Morty as he raised his cigarette to his lips, “Nobody’s stoppin’ ya.”

“Thank you.” Vogel sat down in the booth, opposite of Morty. The booth itself smelled like cigarette smoke and citrus cleaner, with the faintest underpinnings of hundreds of other people who’d sat in that booth before. He wished he’d been able to get to this booth sooner, but here he was, five months after the fact sitting across from a man wearing a “BUSH LIED SOLDIERS DIED” shirt in black and red letters.

“He was sitting right where you are right now, you know,” said Morty, pointing at him with his cigarette, “your guy, I mean. The one you’re lookin’ for.”

“You were there that night?” Vogel asked.

“Yeah,” said Morty. “They were in my booth. I always sit here. So that night, I sat at the booth on the other side. I was right across from you.”

“I don’t recall you being mentioned in the police report,” said Vogel.

“That’s because I didn’t talk to the cops,” said Morty. “I don’t trust ‘em.”

“And yet you’re talking to me.”

“I got my reasons,” said Morty.

“And those reasons are?”

“I’ll get to that,” said Morty. “Just fuckin’ relax for a bit, will ya? Ya make me tense just lookin’ at you.”

Vogel frowned. “I’m here working. I don’t have time to relax.”

“That’s the problem with you Germans,” said Morty, “you’re always ‘on,’ all the time. You work all day driving a forklift and you go home and you play a video game about driving forklifts.”

Vogel gave Morty a puzzled look. “Video games about driving forklifts...? Such things exist?”

“That’s besides the point,” said Morty dismissively. “Trust me, your guy’s not goin’ anywhere, so chill the fuck out and have another drink already.”

“And how could you possibly know that the man I’m looking for isn’t going anywhere?”

Morty lifted the glass in front of him, still holding his cigarette between his fingers, and swung back his head as he downed its contents in several, greedy gulps. He brought his glass down on the table. “‘Let’s just call it a hunch for now. You’re not ready yet.”

“Ready for what?”

“You’ll find out,” said Morty. He waved toward Lois. “Can I get another Natty Boh over here? Wait,” he looked back over to Vogel. “Make that two.”

Vogel sighed. This man was wasting his time, but at least he had the courtesy to get him a drink for his trouble. “So tell me about that night.”

"Well, for starters, they were sittin’ in my booth,” said Morty.

“You had mentioned that, yes. Is it reserved for you?”

“Not officially, no, but I always sit here,” said Morty, jabbing his index finger on the table’s surface. “This is my booth, and they were sittin’ in it.”

“You can’t claim a booth,” said Vogel. “This is a business. Anybody can take any seat.”

“Not mine,” said Morty. “That prick took it on purpose.”

“Messmer?”

“No, that younger guy he was with.”

“Brandon Hamilton.”

“Yeah, that little jerk-off,” said Morty. “Acted like he couldn’t hear me when I told him he was in my booth, then told me to get lost. Waved a tenner in my face like I was a hobo.”

Vogel clenched his jaw. “Is that so?”

“I mean, kid was rich enough,” said Morty. “Could’ve at least gone with a fifty, am I right, Huey?” He smirked, and kept his eyes locked on Vogel’s as Lois set two beers down on the table. At least, Vogel guessed that Morty’s eyes were locked on his. It was difficult to tell with those glasses.

Vogel picked up his glass, his mouth pulling into a tight, uncomfortable line. He took a sip from his beer. This had to be a coincidence. But that look on Morty’s face, staring straight into Vogel with the faintest hint of a smile on his lips, chilled him. Vogel swallowed the lump forming in his throat. “I… don’t know what you mean...”

“I think you do,” said Morty. “And you’re probably wondering how I know about that.”

Vogel said nothing, but he surrendered the slightest nod.

“I know everything that happens in this city,” said Morty. “I got eyes and ears everywhere. Also, I know the guy you gave it to. His name’s Frank. He said you were a prick but he appreciated the money.”

“It disgusts me to see the poor having to resort to begging,” said Vogel. “Your country should take better care of them. However, I don’t see what this has anything to do with my case.”

“It has more to do with why I’m talking to you,” said Morty. “You’re a prick, but you’re an honest prick. You got a hell of a big stick up your ass but you seem like you wanna do the right thing.”

“If it’s all the same to you,” said Vogel, “I’d like to shift the focus of this conversation from myself to Mister Messmer.”

“Right, right… all business with you guys.” Morty took a drag on his cigarette. “So I was sitting in the booth behind them, and I’m ready to follow this guy into the men’s room and give him a piece of my mind. He never went. Your guy did, though. And here’s the part I think you’ll wanna hear.”

Vogel leaned in close. Morty leaned in as well.

“That guy and that girl, they leaned in real close to each other. They were talking about something. I couldn’t tell what, but her hand,” he made an arced motion towards Vogel’s glass, and swept his hand over it, leaving a halo of smoke trailing from his cigarette, “her hand made a move like that, like she was casting a spell over it.”

Vogel arched his brows. “Is that all?”

“Seemed like some real slight-of-hand work, in retrospect,” said Morty. “It happened fast, so quick that if you blinked, you woulda missed it.”

“Did you not think this was suspicious at the time?” Vogel asked. “Did you tell Messmer?”

“I didn’t know what to think,” said Morty. “I didn’t think it was any a’ my business.”

“And when Messmer came back, did he drink it?”

“Yeah, he did.”

“And did he act any differently?”

“Well, he seemed like he got drunk pretty quick.”

“Let me get this straight,” said Vogel as he laced his fingers together, “you saw his drink being tampered with and you saw Messmer suddenly get very drunk, and yet you thought to tell no one about this?”

Morty shrugged. “Didn’t think it was any a’ my business.”

Vogel glared at him, and inhaled, then exhaled deeply through flared nostrils. “You suspected that Messmer was drugged and you did nothing.”

“Hey, hey, hey, now wait a fuckin’ minute,” Morty jabbed his first two fingers at him, cigarette still held between them, “I didn’t say I thought he was drugged. At the time, I didn’t think much of it. I thought maybe this guy just had a low alcohol tolerance. It wasn’t until he showed up on the news that I put two and two together.”

“And you never thought to tell the police.”

“Like I said, I don’t trust cops.” Morty took a drag on his cigarette, and blew a smoke ring into the air as Vogel wrinkled his nose. “And I especially didn’t trust the guy they put in charge of the investigation, Polanski. That guy’s crooked.”

“Crooked?” Vogel asked.

“As in he’s corrupt,” said Morty. “You wanna know why your investigation ain’t goin’ nowhere? Polanski’s gonna protect that little Hamilton brat ‘cause his daddy’s got money. And if that spooky chick was in on it, you can bet that they’re gonna keep that shit quiet.”

“That explains a lot,” Vogel muttered.

“Yeah, no shit,” said Morty. “Polanski’s been on the force a while, he’s got some clout, so you can forget about getting help from Baltimore’s finest.”

“I didn’t think I would,” said Vogel. “So I’m to take it I’m left on my own?”

“Not necessarily,” said Morty. He took a sip of his beer, and licked his lips. “You’ve got a friend hangin’ around that department, and I think you might’ve met him already.”

“And who might that be?”

Morty lifted his glass, and brought it to his lips. He tilted back his head, and slowly drained the rest of the beer, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each deep gulp. He held his glass away from him, and sighed in content as he placed it back onto the table. Vogel’s eyes had not strayed from him, and Morty gave him a cocky little smile. “Tell Agent Nanahara that Morty Walker sent you to him,” said Morty. “He’ll know what I’m talkin’ about.”

“Nanahara?” Vogel echoed. “The Japanese man?”

“Japanese-American, guy, he’s from California,” said Morty. “He’s a good kid. The cop he’s been workin’ with is alright, but Nanahara’s your guy.”

Vogel recalled the brief conversation he’d had with Nanahara at the police station. Nanahara was convinced their cases were connected, and now this strange, one-armed man was telling him to speak with Nanahara. “Are you suggesting that Hamilton and the young woman with him are involved with these murders?”

“I’m saying it’s something worth considering,” said Morty, standing up. “You wanna get to the bottom of this, you gotta open up your mind to different possibilities.”

“You’re leaving?”

“I gotta take a piss,” said Morty. “But I’ve pretty much told you all I gotta tell you.”

“Very well,” said Vogel. “Thank you. You’ve provided me with valuable information.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Morty, staggering towards the men’s room, his one arm swinging back and forth. “I’m sure.”

“I do have one last question, however,” said Vogel.

Morty looked back to Vogel over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“You are a veteran, yes?” Vogel asked. “What war did you fight in?”

Morty scoffed, and put his cigarette between his lips. “All of ‘em,” he said, and continued on his way.

Vogel drank as much of the beer left in his glass as he could stand, and placed it back down onto the table. He stood up, though he hovered over the booth. He took a whiff. He could still smell the cleaner, and he could smell cigarette smoke. His brow furrowed as he sniffed again. He turned around, and saw Lois regarding him with puzzlement and curiosity, and he quickly walked over to the bar, pulling out his wallet and paying his tab. “Keep the change,” he muttered, and left the bar.

As he squinted in the harsh sunlight and walked down the worn cobblestone, he found himself unable to shake one single, recurring thought that ran through his head. Morty’s scent was a scent that Vogel had only ever smelled once before, and it wasn’t a smell like any other human being he’d met.

Morty Walker smelled like a tomb.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Vogel returned to Police Headquarters early that evening, stalking the crowded halls and weaving around officers and civilians. He caught the smell of coffee and cheap aftershave mixed with what smelled like Pomade, and turned his head to see Chief Stiles making his way to the elevator with a mug in his hand and manila folders under his arm. The man looked tired, his dark eyes looking darker still with the bags underneath them.

“Chief Stiles!” he called out.

Stiles turned to Vogel, and sighed heavily as Vogel approached. “Inspector,” he said, his inflection flat, “I’ve got a lot of work to do, I don’t have time to talk--”

“I understand,” said Vogel. “I just need to know if you know where Agent Nanahara is.”

Stiles looked Vogel up and down, as though he were trying to confirm that the man in front of him was who he said he was. “He’s not here,” said Stiles. “I’m not sure where he is.”

“Then perhaps you can tell me how to contact him?”

Stiles scoffed. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “His ‘office’ is the back corner.” He pointed towards it over his shoulder with his thumb. “You can leave a message with his secretary.”

“He has a secretary?”

“See for yourself,” said Stiles, and he ducked as he walked away.

Vogel moved through the bullpen, heading towards an unmarked door in the corner. He knocked on the door, and heard faint shuffling noises. “Excuse me,” he said, “is anyone in?” His hand drifted to the doorknob, and he turned it.

The door opened, revealing a dimly-lit room that appeared to be a repurpose storage closet. In the middle of the room was a folding table that served as a makeshift desk, littered with scattered reports, Post-It notes and photographs. Sitting at the desk on a swivel chair was a small, black pug, who was now staring at Vogel expectantly, its head tilted.

“Is this supposed to be Nanahara’s secretary?” Vogel asked aloud to no one in particular.

The dog tilted its head in the opposite direction. Such a ridiculous-looking animal, Vogel thought.

Vogel approached the desk, and noted the empty red Solo cup filled with pencils and pens. He plucked out a blue ballpoint pen, and pulled a stack of pink Post-Its in front of him. He quickly scribbled at the top, testing the ink, and then wrote a message: “Nanahara, Morty sent me. Call me when you can. Vogel.” He wrote his number at the bottom, peeled off the note, and stuck it onto the space directly in front of the dog.

“Make sure he gets this,” Vogel said, though he was sure the animal couldn’t possibly understand him.

The dog lifted one paw and put it on top of the note, and snorted.

“Good dog,” he said, and he left, leaving the closet door slightly open and wholly convinced this case could not get any stranger.


	6. Out of Sorts

Nicklaus dumped out another two aspirin into his palm, popped them into his mouth and flushed them down with an entire glass of water. He gasped as he set the glass down on the bathroom sink ledge. If he had felt old before, he felt ancient now. Feeble, even. His ribs ached, it hurt to walk, it hurt to sit, there were still burns and gashes and bruises on his chest and ass, but he was still intact. He was alive, and as much as it hurt, he still had that to hold onto.

Besides, he’d managed to get off easier than poor Eddie. Poor, poor Eddie. He’d slept most of the day, only waking up for a few minutes at a time before Nicklaus would give him the good painkillers. He’d been given only about three doses; Sybil didn’t want to give him enough that he might try and overdose. Nicklaus had no intention of doing so, but Eddie most certainly would if given the chance. Nicklaus had a single pair of aspirin left to hold him over until Sybil came back down again. He hoped that would be enough to tide him over.

Slowly, he limped his way towards the bed, and set himself down as though he were settling into a hot bath. He had a cold compress crudely strapped to his ass, and by now it wasn’t very cold anymore and it didn’t offer very much relief. Nicklaus found himself staring at the wall where the television used to be; Sybil and Brandon had removed it either before they’d taken him and Eddie back downstairs, or while the both of them were still passed out. As though the torture wasn’t punishment enough, Nicklaus thought bitterly.

Without any window to the outside world, and Eddie heavily sedated, Nicklaus was left with only his thoughts to pass the time, and it had become much harder to picture a happy ending to this whole dreadful affair. Eddie appeared to have had some hope, for once. The one time he’d allowed himself to hope, and he was brutally disciplined for it. He turned to look back at Eddie, and caught him turning onto his side and groaning softly in his sleep. Nicklaus scooted up along the bed so that he was sitting against Eddie’s back. What bare skin wasn’t covered in gauze brushed up against Eddie’s heated flesh. Nicklaus pressed the back of his hand against Eddie’s back, and felt that it was still clammy with sweat. He checked the washcloth lying over Eddie’s forehead. It was still damp. The fever was worrying. If Eddie had an infection, it could very well kill him. Nicklaus traced Eddie’s cheekbone with his thumb, his touch feather-light, as though it were an act of reverence. There was an old American doo-wop song that played through his head, “Eddy My Love,” and he could hear the woman crooning it in his head. He hummed it idly, not even fully aware he was doing it until Eddie flinched under his caress.

Startled, Nicklaus retracted his hand. “Eddie?” he asked gently. “Are you awake?”

Eddie turned his head, and groaned. He murmured something too low for Nicklaus to hear.

“Eddie?”

Eddie’s eyes blinked open, and took a few seconds to focus on Nicklaus’ face. “What… what time is it?” He mumbled.

“I don’t know,” said Nicklaus.

Eddie’s head flopped to one side, and he sighed. “Then can you turn on the TV and find out?”

“They took the TV away, Eddie,” Nicklaus admitted. “I don’t even know how long you’ve been out.”

“Any idea at all?”

Nicklaus shrugged. “At least twenty-four hours, that much I’m sure.”

“Jesus…” Eddie’s voice was barely audible.

“How are you feeling?” Nicklaus asked.

“Like shit,” said Eddie. “It hurts.”

“How much do you remember?”

Eddie turned his eyes to the ceiling. His eyes moved back and forth, and Nicklaus could see him replaying the events of the previous day in his mind, and the color drain from his face. Eddie started to bolt upright and Nicklaus put his hand on Eddie’s chest.

“Eddie, Eddie, settle, you need to rest,” said Nicklaus.

“My leg…” Eddie murmured. “What she’d do to my leg…?”

“Eddie, please,” Nicklaus begged, “please try to calm yourself, you’re not well--”

Eddie grabbed Nicklaus by the shoulders, his thumbs pressing against the sides of Nicklaus’ neck. He pulled Nick closer, so close that their noses almost touched, and all Nicklaus could see was Eddie’s eyes and the mounting panic and fury burning inside of them.

“What.” Eddie spoke through gritted teeth, his face turning tomato-red, “Did she do. To my leg. Nicklaus?” He squeezed the base of Nicklaus’ neck; not enough to choke him at all, but enough to sting his skin.

Nicklaus swallowed. “Eddie,” he started, speaking very softly, “there’s no gentle way to put this, so I’m just going to say it.” Already he could see Eddie’s anger fade as the blood that had rushed to his face started to drain, and his grip started to loosen. Nicklaus took a deep breath, and said it.

“Sybil took your leg.”

There was a brief moment where Eddie’s expression lingered in a state of emotional limbo; his eyes looked dull and bovine as his jaw slackened slightly so that he resembled a lobotomy patient. His eyeballs twitched, and in a fraction of a second, Eddie shoved Nicklaus back off of the bed and onto the floor. Nicklaus cried out as he landed on his backside, and as he tried to pull himself up off of the floor, Eddie yanked the blanket off of him, and exposed the fresh stump where his right leg used to be.

Immediately, Eddie’s breath hitched as he reached toward the stump with trembling hands, approaching the negative space as though it were on fire. His face twisted into a grimace as he started to hyperventilate. Nicklaus kneeled beside the bed, and looked up at Eddie, then to his stump, and then back up to Eddie.

“Oh, Eddie,” Nicklaus sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Eddie said, his voice creaking like an old door. “You’re _sorry?_ _You’re_ sorry.”

“Eddie, please--”

“She took my leg, Nick!” Eddie gestured to his stump, his body trembling as every muscle in his body tightened. “That goddamn bitch TOOK MY FUCKING LEG!”

“Yes, yes she did!” Nicklaus raised his voice as he stood to his feet. “She did! And you have every right to be upset, Eddie, but please,” he put his hands on Eddie’s shoulders and turned him so that Eddie’s eyes met his, “ _ please, _ try not to overexert yourself. You’re still feverish and exhausted and you don’t need any more stress--”

“Well, it’s a bit too fucking late for that, ain’t it?” Eddie spat back. “How the hell am I supposed to relax when I wake up to find out that… that  _ cunt cut off my leg? _ ”

“I don’t know!” Nicklaus hollered, his voice cracking in exasperation. “I don’t know, alright? But you have to, because you need to recover, so you can get out of here and spite that awful, terrible woman and make her regret everything she’s ever done to you!”

Eddie grabbed Nicklaus’ wrists and wrenched them off of himself with a sneer. He flopped back down on the bed in a spread-eagle pose, and glared at the ceiling. Nicklaus leaned over Eddie and craned his neck as he observed him.

“I take it you understand?” Nicklaus asked.

“If I didn’t feel so awful, I’d slug you one.” Eddie rumbled.

“I’m sorry, ‘slug me one?’”

Eddie groaned. “Just forget it.” He gritted his teeth and grabbed two handfuls of sheets, twisting them into balls as his temples bulged.

“Are you in pain?” Nicklaus asked.

“My leg hurts,” said Eddie. “It’s not even there and I can still feel it and it hurts.”

“You had your last dose of your painkillers only a few hours ago,” said Nicklaus. “Sybil hasn’t brought down any more yet. Is it bearable?”

“It’s driving me crazy,” said Eddie. “It’s tingling, Nick. And it’s hot. I knew about phantom limbs before, I’d read papers on it, but this…” The tendons in his arms flexed and his knuckles turned white. “Actually having to deal with it… I don’t know if I can handle this.”

“Of course you can,” said Nicklaus. “And I will help you. Whatever I can possibly do to help you, I will do it.” He gave Eddie’s bicep a friendly, affectionate rub. “Just say the word.”

Eddie turned his head to look to Nick. “Kill me.”

“Eddie, no.”

“Then you’re not helping.”

“Stop that.” Nicklaus went to stand up so as to make a point, but he barely managed to lift himself up before setting himself back down again with a pained groan. “Just… just please stop, Eddie. I don’t want to hear any more of that kind of talk. Just focus on getting better. Alright? Please?”

“Sure,” said Eddie, turning over onto his side. “Whatever.”

Nicklaus sighed. “I know you’re upset--”

“Nick, if you love me as much as you said you did back there, you’d shut the hell up for five goddamned minutes,” Eddie snapped.

A jolt of electricity shot down Nicklaus’ spine as he went rigid. “You… you remember that?”

“Yeah,” said Eddie, “yeah, I remember. I’d figured that beforehand, though. You weren’t exactly subtle about it.”

Nicklaus turned away from Eddie in a feeble attempt to hide his reddening face. “Oh, well, I…” he stammered, trying to think of something, anything, to say, “I mean… I wasn’t…”

“Stop talking,” said Eddie. “Please, just for a little bit. Can you do me that much, Nick?”

Nicklaus gave a hasty nod, and went quiet. He laced his fingers together, and stared at his lap. Eddie sighed and rolled onto his side. The only sounds in the room came from the cool air blowing in from the vent, and Eddie’s slow breathing. They had no television, no pencil and paper, no books or anything at all to take their minds off their current situation. For the past 24 hours, Nicklaus could only tend to Eddie, tend to his own wounds, and wait for either Sybil to come back down again, or for Eddie to wake up and provide him some sort of company. And of course, the one time Nicklaus couldn’t provide Eddie with more painkillers, the one time he wouldn’t go right back to sleep, he didn’t want anything to do with Nick. Nicklaus’ shoulders stooped as he bit his lower lip, which was threatening to start trembling. He swallowed the knot forming in his throat, and breathed deep. This wasn’t personal, he thought to himself as he controlled his breathing. Eddie had been through hell. He had the right to want to be left alone and be grouchy. The lump in his throat smoothed down, and he shut his eyes. He’d barely managed to relax before Eddie groaned, and nudged Nicklaus with the back of his hand.

“Nick?”

“Yes?” Nicklaus tried not to sound too eager. Perhaps he wanted to apologize?

Eddie’s mouth twisted into an uncomfortable grimace. “I, uh… I need to take a piss. Could you… y’know… help me up?”

“Oh.” Nicklaus tried not to sound too disappointed. “Of course.” He slowly rose off the bed, and circled around it as he reached out towards Eddie. Eddie grabbed a hold of Nick’s hands, and Nicklaus pulled him upright onto his remaining foot. Eddie wobbled, unable to maintain his balance, and leaned hard onto Nicklaus, wrapping an arm round the other man’s neck and shoulder.

“You alright there, Eddie?” Nicklaus asked.

“I’m alright,” he said. “Let’s move.”

The two of them limped toward the bathroom, Eddie hopping along as best he could, stumbling as he tried to step forward with his missing leg. Nicklaus reached for the doorknob and pushed the door open. Eddie hopped on one foot until he leaned over the toilet, holding himself upright with one hand pressed against the wall. Nicklaus closed the door as much as the chain around Eddie’s remaining ankle would allow him, and slumped against the wall. He could hear Eddie let forth a strong, steady stream of piss, and clear his throat. After nearly a full minute, the toilet flushed, and Eddie grunted as he hopped over to the sink to wash his hands. Nicklaus pushed the door open slightly.

“Do you need any more help?” he asked.

“M’fine,” Eddie mumbled, and he shook the excess water off his hands. He hopped back over towards the door frame, and leaned onto it, his hands resting on opposite sides of the frame. Nicklaus slipped under one of Eddie’s arms, and walked him back to bed. Eddie flopped back onto the bed, his arms spread in a Christ pose as Nicklaus stood over him. Neither of them said anything for a while, and Nicklaus finally took a seat on the bed, delicately. The silence lasted several minutes before Eddie finally broke it.

“I wanted to be her friend, once.”

“I’m sorry?” Nicklaus asked.

“When Sybil was in my class,” Eddie clarified, “she struck me as this weird, lonely girl without any friends. I saw some of myself as a kid in her. I just thought she needed somebody to treat her with some kindness…”

Nicklaus held his tongue. Eddie never much got into the relationship he’d had with Sybil before she’d abducted him. He shifted on the bed, and leaned forward. When Eddie failed to follow up, Nicklaus decided to gently prod him. “What happened?”

“You know goddamn well what happened,” said Eddie as he rested his hand over his brow. “I wound up here.”

“No, I mean, before all that,” said Nicklaus. “You were friends with her?”

Eddie grunted. “Thought I was. Tried to be.”

“So, she wasn’t always this way?”

“I don’t even know,” Eddie groaned. “I keep thinking back, keep trying to remember anything that might have tipped me off… liking death metal and horror movies aren’t really enough to raise any kind of red flags, you know?”

Nicklaus nodded.

“I mean, just look at me, would ya?” Eddie said with a bitter chuckle, as he waved his hand over his tattooed chest. “With my coyote tat on my back, I look like I did a stint as a roadie for The Meteors.”

“I’m not familiar with them,” admitted Nicklaus.

“They don’t strike me as your kinda band,” said Eddie.

“I suppose not,” said Nicklaus, “but I want to know more about Sybil before all this.”

“Right, right,” said Eddie. “Right. Sybil. No red flags… she was quiet, yeah, and she didn’t have many friends, but I just assumed it was due to her being shy. I’d been that kid. I’ve known plenty of people who were that kid. It sucks when you’re that kid. I thought I’d reach out to her, you know? Let her know she wasn’t alone…” His voice trailed off, and his eyes lost focus, staring off toward the ceiling, and then he lifted his head to look Nicklaus in the eye. “But she got the wrong idea.”

“She fell in love with you?” Nicklaus ventured.

“She thought I was coming to her with amorous intentions,” Eddie clarified. “And yeah, she did fall in love with me. Hard. That…  _ that _ was what I picked up on.”

Eddie sighed, and covered his eyes with his arm. “I tried to let her down easy but… I thought it went alright at the time… she took it much worse than I realized.”

“Oh, Eddie…” Nicklaus reached out to gently stroke his hair. He hesitated a moment, his hand hovering near Eddie’s, before he made contact with the top of Eddie’s scalp. Eddie gave out a low grunt in acknowledgement, and Nicklaus pet his head, his fingers sweeping over the short crop of blond hair. “Eddie, I’m--”

“If it’s all the same to you, Nick, I don’t really need you tellin’ me you’re sorry again,” said Eddie with a weary sigh. “It’s not done me much good.”

There was a pause, as Nicklaus waited to see if Eddie had anything to add, but Eddie had gone quiet. Feeling the need to say something, Nicklaus cleared his throat. “Well, you need your rest,” he said, and with an agonized groan, he stood to his feet. “I’ll leave you be.”

“Yeah?” Eddie lifted his arm from across his eyes. “How’s that? We’re trapped in the same goddamned room.”

“I’ll just be in the bathroom,” said Nicklaus. “Just let me know if you need anything.”

“I need a stiff goddamned drink, is what I need,” Eddie grumbled.

Nicklaus let out a raspy chuckle as he limped towards the bathroom. “I’m sure you do,” he said, and pulled the door as shut as it would allow behind him. A stiff drink, he thought, was what got him in this mess in the first place.

He set himself down onto the lid of the toilet, and sighed as he sat down. He held his head in his hands, his fingers combing through his hair. He felt useless. No matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, he could never make things better for Eddie or himself. Why even bother? he thought. Clearly, nothing would change. Eddie would still be miserable, even more so now, doing nothing but feeling sorry for himself and wishing for death, and Nicklaus would be completely ineffectual. Nothing changed unless it changed for the worst. Nicklaus slumped forward like a rag doll, and despite the protests of his back muscles, he stayed like that for several minutes. He let the blood rush to his head, and closed his eyes. No, he thought. He had to stay hopeful. He had to. He had—

The doorknob to the guest room rattled and twisted, and Nicklaus jerked upright. Even through his headrush, he scrambled out the bathroom door and sat in place on the floor as trained. Eddie hadn’t bothered to get up; he just let out another groan. The door opened, and Sybil came in, closing the door behind her. Immediately, Nicklaus noticed she wasn’t carrying a tray with her. Instead, she held her medicine bag behind her. She leaned against the door, dressed in an oversized t-shirt and short denim shorts, and looked to Nicklaus with a coy little smirk.

“He’s awake, isn’t he, Nickie?” she asked.

“Go to Hell,” Eddie grumbled.

“Oh, Eddie, shhh,” she shushed him as she approached the bed. “There’s no need to be so hostile.”

“You chopped off my goddamn leg,” Eddie said with a sneer.

“Stop being such a baby,” said Sybil. She sat down on the bed beside Eddie. “Are you feeling better?”

“His fever’s down,” Nicklaus piped up, before Eddie could respond. “But I haven’t been able to change his dressings--”

“That’s because you’re not supposed to,” Sybil cut him off. “I’m the nurse here.”

Eddie snorted in derision. He turned his head away from her, and tried to scoot away when she grabbed a hold of his thigh.

“You don’t want to get sick, do you, Eddie?” Sybil asked sweetly.

“Maybe,” he grumbled.

“Not if you’d die all slow and in agony,” she said. She opened her bag removed a small pair of scissors. “And I want to keep you around for a while. Now, are you going to cooperate, or am I going to have to sedate you?”

Eddie grumbled to himself, and laid still as Sybil straddled him, her back facing him. She held his right thigh in place as she cut through the bandages, and Eddie winced. She raised her ass up in the air as she snipped down his leg. An even though Eddie reviled this woman, and though she was in the process of exposing his fresh wound, Nicklaus couldn’t help but notice Eddie’s eyes were locked onto Sybil’s…  _ hindquarters _ . This happened often, though Nicklaus never asked Eddie about it. He was sure Eddie would rationalize it somehow or explain it away via some psychological phenomenon. But it was probably far simpler than all that; before all this happened, Eddie had no doubt been attracted to her. Not that he’d ever admit it, of course. Especially not now, as Sybil had peeled off the sticky bandages off of Eddie’s stump, and shoved her backside directly into Eddie’s face. Eddie laid his head back on the pillow just to get his nose out from her crotch, and he hissed through clenched teeth as his stump, sticky with congealing blood, was out in the open.

It was an ugly wound, with burnt, blackened flesh on the end of his severed limb with streaks of bright red, raw muscle peeking out around the edges. It looked like a lump of hamburger mixed with charcoal. Nicklaus felt bile rise in his throat, and looked away as he choked it back down. Sybil, meanwhile, admired her handiwork with a girlish glee.

“Oh, wow,” she breathed, a smile on the edge of her lips, “does it still hurt?”

“What the fuck do you think?” Eddie growled.

“How much does it hurt?” Sybil reached for her bag, and opened it. She pulled on a pair of latex gloves and let them snap against her wrists. “Hmmm?” Before Eddie could answer her, she prodded the edges of his wound with her fingertips, and Eddie shrieked in pain.

“Mistress, please!” Nicklaus called out, “there’s no need to--”

“No need for you to open that whore mouth for anything unless you’re sucking cock or eating pussy,” Sybil snapped. “You don’t speak unless I speak to you. You just sit right where you are and you watch. Do you understand me?”

Nicklaus gave her a feeble nod.

“Say it,” she said.

“Yes, Mistress,” he said meekly.

“Good boy,” she said. She looked back to Eddie, who was lying as still as he could manage, his jaw clenched tightly as she applied more pressure on the stump. She smiled, and bit her lip. “Can you still feel your leg, Eddie?”

“Fuck you,” Eddie spat.

She wrapped her hands around the stump and squeezed. Eddie howled as fresh blood oozed onto the used gauze, and his hands shot up to grab onto her. He wasn’t able to sit up far enough to grab her neck, so his hands settled on her hips. Sybil let out a delighted “oh!” as she placed a hand on top of his.

“Eddie!” She cried out, “aren’t you eager for once!” She sat down on Eddie’s pelvis, and lifted up his leg, which had been reduced to little more than a useless hunk of meat. She hugged what was left of his right leg toward her chest, and smeared blood down his thigh. “I kinda like it.”

“Rather’d have my hands around your neck,” Eddie snarled as his chest heaved.

“Ooooh, I love it when you talk dirty,” she said with a smirk.

“Get off of me.” Eddie tried to shove Sybil off of him, but she squeezed the end of his stump again, and he let out an agonized bellow.

“This wouldn’t have happened to you if you’d just been good,” she said. “You only have yourself to blame. Are you going to be a good boy, Professor?”

Eddie let out a groan. Sybil pouted. “Hey,” she said. “I asked you a question!” He didn’t answer. Sybil scowled down at him, and she prodded her index finger into his wound, poking into the edge of the raw muscle, and Eddie writhed and screamed. Nicklaus covered his mouth to hold in his own screaming, and turned away, his eyes wide and his face white as marble.

Sybil laughed. “What’s the matter, Nickie?” she asked. “Don’t have the stomach for this?”

Nicklaus shook his head, still covering his mouth.

“No?” She poked deeper towards the center of the stump, jamming the tip of her finger in until it bled, and he made a low-pitched, guttural sound from deep in his chest, like an agitated bear.

Nicklaus’ mouth twisted into a grimace behind his hand, and his sight went blurry with tears. He let out a choked gasp, and shook his head again.

“Well,” she said, in a huffy voice, “I guess you’re just going to have to develop one,” and she dug her fingers into Eddie’s stump and squeezed. By now, Eddie was sounding more like a stalling car than a man. Sybil set his leg back down onto the used bandages and pulled her shirt over her head, tossing the now-bloodstained cloth over her shoulder to Nicklaus. He caught it, and began wringing the fabric between balled fists. She leaned over Eddie and cupped his sweat-slicked face with her bloodied gloves. As Eddie’s chest heaved with erratic spasms, she shushed him. “Breathe, breathe, Eddie,” she cooed. “Shhh, shhh, you’re alright, Eddie… shhh…”

“Not alright,” Eddie choked. “Hurts.”

“I know,” she said, and kissed his forehead. “I’ll make it better.” She sat back up, and ran her hands down his chest, smearing more blood onto his skin. She scooted back onto his thighs, and her hands stopped at his pants waist. “I can be nice too, you know.”

“S-stop,” Eddie rasped, “don’t--”

Sybil hooked her fingers underneath the elastic waist of his underwear, and she pulled them down past his ass, freeing his half-hard cock. She grabbed hold of it, stroking his member with her gloved hand. The blood, however, was sticky, and caused an uncomfortable friction against the latex and Eddie’s dick. Sybil peeled off her right glove, tossed it aside, and resumed masturbating the man beneath her.

Nicklaus felt a stirring in his own loins, as he could not look away. His eyes were locked on Eddie’s stiffening erection. He found himself filled with a burning longing; usually, Sybil would call him over and give him something to do, either with her or Eddie, but her back was turned to him as she kissed and sucked at Eddie’s cock. Slowly, he moved his hand closer to his crotch, and had his hand halfway into his pants before Sybil finally acknowledged his presence.

“You don’t touch yourself until I tell you to touch yourself, Nickie,” she said. She finally turned around, and caught Nicklaus taking his hand out of his pants. “You filthy little pervert, you.”

Nicklaus squirmed as he tried to suppress his own arousal by tucking it back between his thighs. Sybil took Eddie’s cock into her mouth, and Nicklaus’ breath hitched; poor Eddie was so vulnerable, so hurt, but Nicklaus still yearned to be the one with his mouth on that cock. All the hard work of nursing Eddie back to health would be on Nicklaus’ shoulders, while Sybil would just come down to abuse the man sexually and torture him. Eddie deserved better than that, and Nicklaus wanted more than anything to be the one to treat him as he deserved, to love and know him. His face burned with rage and jealousy, while his loins burned with desire. He tried to suppress the urge by focusing on Eddie’s now freshly oozing stump, but the images of Sybil sawing through his flesh flooded his mind instead; the way leg muscles spasmed around the blade, the horrible sounds of steel tearing through flesh and cracking bone, and the blood, so much bright red blood… it only made him angry at her, and even more envious of her.

Once Eddie was sufficiently hard, Sybil took her mouth off his cock, and unbuttoned the fly to her shorts. She slipped out of them, pulling her panties down as well, and rutted against his dick. She was sopping wet, and left a trail of her juices along the underside of Eddie’s cock. The first time Nicklaus felt her doing that to him, she reminded him of a horny snail. Now he thought of a cat rubbing itself against a post to mark it. She positioned his cock against her cunt, just rubbing it against herself at first, before she raised her hips and sank down onto his erection.

Sybil let out a breathy, warbling moan as she threw back her head. Eddie just laid there, merely a passive accessory at this point, barely moving aside from the occasional involuntary twitch and shudder. As she rode him, she rolled her hips up high and low, leaning forward over Eddie so his cock plunging in and out of her was in plain view of an increasingly flustered Nicklaus. He was no stranger to the feeling of Eddie’s cock buried deep inside of him, true, but he yearned for it at that moment, craved it, like a drug. And as Sybil whipped her hair out of her face to look back at Nicklaus, she gave him a knowing smirk, and let out another theatrical moan. Nicklaus felt the blood boiling in his face, stoked by a fire ignited in his belly. That she-devil, she was doing this to taunt him!

The locomotion of her hips increased speed with each thrust, until she was bouncing on top of Eddie as though she was riding a pogo stick. She placed her hands on Eddie’s chest and dug her nails into his skin, and he cried out as her moans got louder. Sybil gritted her teeth and dragged her nails down Eddie’s chest, clawing at him and grunting like a beast in heat as she let out eardrum-piercing shrieks until Eddie’s reddened face scrunched up and he let out a choked gasp, and he shuddered. Sybil lifted herself high on the end of his cock, and a milky trickle of semen leaked out her pussy and down his shaft.

Sybil raised her hips a bit more, and let Eddie’s wet cock flop out onto his stomach as he caught his breath. She twisted herself around, her leg reaching out toward Nicklaus as the rest of her body followed. She sat on the edge of the bed, legs spread wide, with her sopping wet, freshly-fucked cunt thrust out into Nicklaus’ face.

“Eat me out,” she said, still feverish with desire. “Eat his cum out of me.”

Nicklaus knew better than to argue with her, but he still hesitated as he approached her cunt and he thrust his face into it. He was immediately overwhelmed by the sour taste of her snatch and the dank smell that filled his nostrils. He’d never been with a woman before Sybil, and even after five months he couldn’t get used to the experience of cunnilingus and lapping at these wrinkled flaps of skin. But as his tongue probed past her lips, he tasted the salt of Eddie’s sperm, and he felt a fresh wave of blood rush down to his cock. He sucked harder at her cunt, trying to get Eddie’s taste into his mouth, and Sybil pet his hair as her breathing quickened. “Good boy,” she said as her other hand wandered towards Eddie’s stump. “Eat it. Clean it all up.” She squeezed Eddie’s stump, and Eddie let out a pathetic whimper.

Nicklaus’ tongue dove deeper, as he tried to lap up as much semen as he could. His upper lip caught onto her clitoris, she shuddered, and she grabbed the back of his head and shoved his face in deeper. The tip of his nose rubbed against the nub, and he was smothered in vagina. He tried to pull his head out, but she held it in place, and he puffed and grunted into her cunt as his head began to feel airy. Suddenly, the muscles of her cunt contracted, and a gush of liquid flooded his nostrils. He tried to snort it out but only succeeded in inhaling it, and it burned as it went down his sinuses. She finally let go of him, and he yanked his head back, sputtering as he tried to blow out his nose. His beard was soaked in vaginal juices, as were the sheets beneath Sybil’s ass.

“You like that?” she asked.

Nicklaus started to shake his head, but quickly replaced it with a nod as he coughed.

“I told you you’d come to like pussy,” she said as she leaned forward. She reached out to Nicklaus and stroked his hair. “Didn’t I, Nickie?”

“Y-yes,” said Nicklaus, and he honked his nose a he blew the last of the liquid out. “Yes, you did.” He wasn’t lying. She had told him that.

She turned back around to look back over Eddie. She snapped on a fresh glove, and pulled her medicine bag over. She squeezed a wad of Bactine out onto a gauze pad, slapped it on the end of Eddie’s stump, and wrapped it in fresh bandages. Once she’d finished, she got up, got dressed again, and packed her bag up.

“You gonna leave the sheets here all wet?” Eddie finally spoke up.

“I’ll change them,” she said in a dismissive tone.

“Yeah?” Eddie asked, sounding annoyed. “That right?”

“Don’t get smart with me, Professor,” Sybil said. “You’ve still got one leg left.”

Eddie just scowled at her.

“Permission to speak, Mistress?” Nicklaus piped up.

Sybil got a look of sly amusement on her face. “Yes?”

“I was just wondering when we might have supper,” said Nicklaus, his voice trailing off toward the end.

“Why?” asked Sybil. “You just ate.” She gave Nicklaus a cheeky smirk, and left the room, locking the door behind her.

Nicklaus looked over to Eddie, who was looking back at Nick, folded over himself with his arms crossed and resting on his remaining leg. Eddie’s eyes were half-lidded and bleary, and his mouth was twisted into a disapproving frown.

“What?” Nicklaus asked.

“That boner you sportin’ the result of conditioning or were you actually into all a’ that?” Eddie pointed to Nicklaus’ crotch, and Nicklaus closed his legs and pulled his knees to his chest.

“You… you need more rest,” said Nicklaus. “I uh… I need to take a shower.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“Not for that!” Nicklaus snapped. “I mean, I’m filthy.”

“No kiddin’.”

Nicklaus’ face contorted into a pop-eyed, pursed-lipped glare. “Why can’t you just--” He stopped, and his eyes darted from Eddie’s tired, sweaty face, to the freshly-wrapped stump already bleeding red through its bandages, to the stain on the bed, the chain on Eddie’s remaining ankle, Eddie’s face again... it was all too much to take in. Instead, he opted to let out a growl of frustration as he shook his hands in the air, his fingers curled into claws. He stormed off into the bathroom, grunting and making little “Ooooh!” noises through gritted teeth, and slammed the door behind him onto his chain.

After he turned on the showerhead, Nicklaus stripped down, hobbled into the tub and underneath the water streaming down, sighing as the water hit his skin. His muscles relaxed, even as the water droplets pounded on his still-bandaged sore spots. His chest, at least, didn’t hurt anymore, but it was starting to itch. Immediately, he started to shampoo his beard. He scrubbed furiously, his nails scraping at his chin hard enough to leave marks. He could still smell her on his face. He applied more shampoo, and then more, and had washed all the hair on his head three times over. By now, the erection he’d been sporting was starting to droop, so Nicklaus turned the handle on the tub, turning the water from hot to cold, and putting the bothersome thing out of his misery.

He turned off the faucet, and shivered as he grabbed a towel and dabbed his face dry. Once he had dried off, he peeled off the wet bandages on his chest and looked down at his cuts. The blood had long since clotted, but it was still gooey on his wounds. Sybil hadn’t left him with any disinfectant; just gauze pads and adhesive, elastic bandages. He sighed, and examined his chest in the mirror. Reflected back at him, the scars on his chest read “EROHW,” in stark, jagged and backwards letters. He touched one of the cuts delicately, and as his fingertip brushed against the edge of his torn flesh, he retracted his hand, and hissed. He covered the cuts with fresh gauze, and bound his chest with the bandages, careful to not wrap them too tightly against his ribs. There weren’t any scissors around, so he had to use his teeth to tear it off the roll. After much difficulty trying to use his canines to rip through the sticky fabric, Nicklaus managed to cut through it and stuck the tapered end against his side. Changing the bandages on his ass, however, was a far trickier prospect; peeling off the old gauze was painful, and the best he could manage with attaching the new gauze was to wrap a length of bandage around his waist, and then two more strips around his thighs just to hold the gauze pads in place. Once he’d finished that, he hobbled back out into the bedroom again, crawled onto the bed beside Eddie, grabbed a pillow and quickly collapsed into it. Eddie had been sitting up, and he nudged Nicklaus. Nicklaus just let out a groan, and closed his eyes. “Just let me rest a bit,” he mumbled. “My eyes are tired.”

“Fine by me,” said Eddie.

Nicklaus never actually fell asleep. As he lay on the bed, he tried to daydream of being on his bed at home, but the sting on his ass and the dank smell of moist vagina in the air kept him anchored in this horrible basement. He then decided on listening for noises from Eddie. Eddie didn’t offer much; he coughed, he sighed, he farted at least once, but otherwise offered nothing. Nicklaus wondered if they’d die of boredom down here before they’d had the chance to get murdered.

He balled his hand into a fist. No, he thought. She wanted them to roll over and give up. That was the whole point of the punishment and the humiliation. He took a deep breath through his nostrils, and let it out. Once he and Eddie had recovered, Nicklaus silently swore to himself that his efforts to escape would be redoubled. Already his mind was racing with different scenarios that could provide them with a means of escape, but he was rudely yanked back from his scheming when the lock on the door rattled and turned. Nicklaus pushed himself up on the bed, arching his back, and he cried out in pain. As the door opened, he draped the upper half of his body over the side of the bed and dragged himself off and onto the floor. Eddie, meanwhile, stayed put, looking back over his shoulder.

Brandon stood in the doorway and dangled a white plastic bag in front of him. “Bet you weren’t expecting to see me again so soon,” he said with a smirk.

Eddie turned around to face Brandon, swinging his stump over onto the bed as his body tensed up in anticipation. Nicklaus, meanwhile, just hunched over slightly as the back of his neck began to burn with dread.

“What’s the matter with you?” Brandon looked down at Nicklaus with a derisive sneer. “I come in while you were jerkin’ it thinking about David Hasselhoff fucking you in the butt?”

“N-no, sir, I don’t…” Nicklaus’ face scrunched up as he processed the insult. “Wait,  _ David Hasselhoff?” _

“You weird German perverts like Baywatch, right?” Brandon looked over to Eddie. “Hey, Long John Silver, back me up on this.”

Eddie glowered. “I think your stereotypes may be a good twenty years out of date,” he said flatly.

“Hey,” said Brandon, “you wanna go full Lieutenant Dan, you keep that shit up, smart guy.” He dropped the bag onto the floor in front of Nicklaus. “Dinner’s served.”

Nicklaus sat still, and looked up at Brandon, who was eyeing him expectantly. As Nicklaus cautiously reached for the bag, Brandon let out a loud “AH!” as though he had just remembered something, and Nicklaus jolted and retracted his hand.

“I almost forgot!” said Brandon. He reached into his back pocket, and pulled out a dull metal object. “It’s gonna be a while before I can get Professor Pirate more dope, so you can use this in the meantime.” He tossed the object to Nicklaus underhanded, and Nicklaus caught it and clutched it to his chest. He pulled the object back to get a better look at it, and froze.

It was a flask.

It was made of undecorated, stainless brushed steel that curved into a parenthesis, but most importantly, it was full. His fingers twitched around it, trying to scratch an itch he hadn’t felt for years. His eyes darted back up to look at Brandon, whose expression remained as smarmy cool as ever.

“Something wrong, Nick?” Brandon asked.

“Well, ah,” Nicklaus rapped his fingers against the flask, “I’m not so sure this would be good for him, in this state, what with--” He was cut off as Eddie stretched over the bed and reached for the flask, plucking it right out of Nicklaus’ hands. Eddie twisted off the cap and took a deep swig, and he let out a low sigh as he handed the flask back to Nicklaus.

“Thanks,” said Eddie. “I needed that.”

“Hey,” said Brandon, his arms spread wide as he shrugged, “what can I say? I’m in a good mood and I’m feeling generous.”

“Pretty sure that’s bullshit, but whatever,” said Eddie.

“Believe what you want,” said Brandon. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some very important shit to work on.” He turned around and opened the door, but he looked back at Nicklaus. “Oh, and one more thing,” he said, and his cool, green eyes locked onto Nick’s as he flashed him a boyish grin. “Bottom’s up.” His tongue stuck out from between his teeth at a cheeky angle, and he shut the door as Nicklaus just sat there on the floor, slack-jawed and still holding the opened flask.

“… You okay there?”

“Ah!” Nicklaus gasped, and screwed the flask shut. “Yes, yes, I’m fine.”

“He’s up to somethin’,” Eddie remarked, looking at the door. “You got any idea what?”

“No, no,” said Nicklaus, shaking his head vigorously. “I don’t know.”

“Well,” said Eddie, “if it’s poisoned, at least he’d be doing us a favor.”

“Eddie, no,” Nicklaus said with a sigh. “Stop that.”

“Don’t worry, we’re probably not that lucky,” said Eddie. “For whatever reason, he does what Sybil wants. What’d he get for us, anyway?”

Nicklaus looked into the bag, and pulled out a styrofoam container. He handed it over to Eddie, and pulled out a second container. Eddie opened his container, and pulled out a massive mound of stuffed pita bread. “Falafel?”

Nicklaus opened his and pulled out his own falafel sandwich, and took a bit. As he chewed, he gave an approving nod. “Better than usual,” he said once he’d swallowed.

“Yeah, he’s definitely up to something,” said Eddie, and bit off a large hunk of his sandwich. He chewed for a bit, and spoke again. “Jush dun’ nuh whut.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” said Nicklaus.

Eddie swallowed. “I had my goddamn leg cut off, bein’ polite ain’t exactly forefront on my mind right now.”

“You could choke that way.”

“You keep telling me ways I could die like that’s going to discourage me,” said Eddie. “You’d think you would’ve wised up by now.”

“Hush,” said Nicklaus. “That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little bit funny.”

Nicklaus sighed. After he took another bite of his sandwich, and after he swallowed, he looked back to Eddie. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” said Eddie.

“What did you mean when you said earlier, about Brandon doing whatever Sybil wants, for whatever reason?”

“What did I  _ mean? _ ” Eddie echoed, his mouth half-full.

“Well,” said Nicklaus, “you seem confused by Brandon’s behavior. I thought you’d studied this sort of thing, so I was just wondering why that was.”

Eddie swallowed. “He’s willing to entertain the whims of some woman he only met a few months ago. It doesn’t really fit the profile of somebody like him, you know?”

“How’s that?”

“Guy like him wouldn’t kowtow to anybody,” said Eddie. “The man’s a sociopath. People aren’t anything to him except things to be exploited. So if he’s keeping Sybil around, keeping  _ us _ around… he’s either getting some kind of enjoyment out of it himself, or maybe some kind of contingency plan that I can’t even begin to imagine…”

“Maybe he’s scared of her,” Nicklaus suggested.

“Naw.” Eddie shook his head. “I sincerely doubt that.” He used one hand to unscrew the cap from the flask again, and took a sip. He extended his arm and held the flask out to Nicklaus. “Want some?”

Nicklaus shifted his weight, and cleared his throat. “I really shouldn’t,” he said. “It’s meant for you, after all.”

“Ain’t nothin’ sadder than a man drinkin’ alone,” said Eddie. “Pretty sure you deserve a drink.”

Nicklaus studied the flask, and his fingers twitched. “What… what is it?”

“Whiskey,” Eddie answered with a casual shrug. “Not sure what brand, y’know, in case you care about that sort of thing.”

“Is it good?” Nicklaus asked, his voice much softer now.

“It’s not bad,” said Eddie. “Goes down pretty smooth.”

“Perhaps later,” Nicklaus said quickly. “I’m fine for now.”

Eddie arched his eyebrows. “You alright there, Nick?”

“I’m fine,” said Nicklaus. He shoved more of his sandwich into his face just to get out of any further questioning, and scarfed down as much as he could. He was highly aware that Eddie was looking at him with a look of concern.

And yet, Eddie didn’t pry any further. The two of them ate in a thick, almost suffocating silence. Nicklaus finished his meal before Eddie, and he brushed the crumbs out of his beard with a napkin, hunched over and facing away from the other man. Eddie’s pace was leisurely, working through his meal with the occasional sip of whiskey.

“How are you feeling?” Nicklaus asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“Better,” said Eddie as his speech started to slur. “Whiskey helps the pain. Doesn’t feel so bad.”

“That’s good,” said Nicklaus. “I’m glad.”

“Bein’ in a drunken stupor don’t seem like a bad way to go through this,” Eddie said. He swayed to the side as Nicklaus finally turned around fully to look at him. “You can see how theses chemical dependencies start.”

“I most certainly can,” Nicklaus warbled as he held his cheek in his hand, turning back away from Eddie again.

“Say,” Eddie crawled across the bed toward Nicklaus on his stomach, stopping as his arms dangled off the edge, “you don’t have like… a family history of that kinda dependency, do ya, Nick?”

“Why do you ask?” Nicklaus’ voice was softer now, and he squeaked like a mouse.

“Just ‘cause a’ how you’re acting,” said Eddie. “All nervous Nellie an’ whatnot.”

“I said I’m fine, Eddie.” Nicklaus suddenly found his voice again. “I don’t wish to talk about it.”

“Well, that’s a first,” said Eddie, as he rolled over onto his back, bringing his arms back up to cross over his chest. “That’s fine, though. I don’t mind.” He looked over toward Nicklaus. “Nick?”

“Y-yes?”

“You can come up on the bed, if you want,” said Eddie.

Nicklaus climbed onto the bed and lay down by Eddie’s side, straight and stiff as a plank with his fingers laced over his chest. Eddie rolled onto his side towards Nicklaus, and Nicklaus could smell the whiskey on his breath. It wafted into Nicklaus’ nostrils, absorbing the scent, and setting off whole lines of firing synapses in his brain. Saliva pooled in his closed mouth. He could feel his sinuses burn.

“Thanks,” said Eddie.

“For what?” asked Nicklaus.

“For takin’ care of me,” said Eddie. “Even when I don’t wanna be taken care of. I think about dyin’ a lot, you know.”

“You don’t say.” Nicklaus tried to sound sarcastic. Instead he sounded a little nervous.

“I hate this,” said Eddie. “I hate it so much I think I’d rather be dead, and yet… and yet, you still care about me.”

“Of course I do,” said Nicklaus.

“Is that ‘cause you’re in love with me?”

“No,” said Nicklaus. “I’d still care about you even if I wasn’t.”

“You mean that?”

Nicklaus nodded. “I truly and sincerely mean that.”

“Now that, I actually believe,” said Eddie. He snuggled up against Nicklaus, and laid an arm over Nicklaus’ chest. “Wish you weren’t so hairy.”

“I think that’s from my grandmother’s side of the family,” Nicklaus said. Really, he thought, his chest wasn’t  _ that _ hairy.

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“She was Jewish,” Nicklaus murmured.

“So, what, was she hairy?”

“What?” Nicklaus rolled his head to look at Eddie, his eyebrows quirked.

“She have a  _ beard? _ ” Eddie drew out that last word. “Were you born with yours? Come out as a little bearded baby?”

“You are… very drunk,” Nicklaus said with an uneasy smirk. “Very… very drunk.”

“Yes… yes, I am…” said Eddie. He went quiet, and it took a minute for Nicklaus to realize that Eddie had fallen asleep.

Nicklaus sat up, and was about to kiss Eddie on the forehead when his eyes drifted to the flask. It was lying on the bed, not far from the edge. Nicklaus’ fingers started to twitch. He clenched his teeth, and his whole body felt rigid and sore. His head started to throb. Did he have any aspirin left? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t think straight. He hadn’t even realized he was now holding the flask in his trembling hands. He didn’t even remember picking it up. It was as though he were acting on instinct. He was aware, dully, that he shouldn’t be holding this. That if he were smart, if he cared about his recovery and his commitment to sobriety, he’d put the flask down right now, and stuff it somewhere where he wouldn’t be tempted by it. He looked over to Eddie, who, for perhaps the first time in months, was sleeping without mumbling or having a fit. He looked serene. Beautiful, even, in spite of his mutilation.

“The hell with it,” Nicklaus muttered, as he unscrewed the cap on the flask, and drank deep.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Eddie hadn’t even opened his eyes yet and he could still feel that something was Wrong. Not just wrong, but Wrong, like his leg being gone but he could still feel it level of Wrong. He swung his arm across the bed, and felt no one there. Eddie rolled over and groped blindly at the other side until he felt a sunken spot in the bed. He opened his eyes, and saw his fingertips less than an inch away from Nicklaus, who was sitting on the edge of the bed. Nicklaus sat there motionless, his head bowed, and didn’t even seem to notice the shifting weight in the mattress as Eddie sat up. “Nick?”

Nicklaus swayed slightly, and jerked his head upright, still facing away from Eddie. Eddie waited a few moments for some further response of any kind. “Nick?” Eddie asked again, his voice delicate with concern.

“I heard you the first time,” Nicklaus replied, far too loud and more annoyed than Eddie could ever recall. His head drooped back down to face the floor, and he went quiet again.

“Are you feelin’ alright?” Eddie asked.

“Never better!” Nicklaus crowed, and threw his head back. “I feel the best I ever have… in  _ years _ , Eddie!” He continued this train of thought, but Eddie found himself unable to follow; it was all German, and he was speaking faster and faster, his voice fraught with an increasing agitation, before Eddie finally cut him off.

“Whoa, hold on, slow the hell down,” said Eddie. “I can’t understand a word you’re sayin’--”

Nicklaus laughed, and leaned back, far enough that he could look at Eddie from upside-down, his graying locks dangling above where Eddie’s right leg used to be. He was grinning a wild, manic grin, and his eyes were wide and glassy.

“Nick,” said Eddie sternly.

“Yessss?” Nicklaus asked, his voice dissolving into a hiss.

“Did you drink some of that whiskey?”

“Maaaybeee…” Nicklaus snorted as he stifled a giggle.

“Did you drink  _ all  _ of that whiskey?”

“Eddie,” Nicklaus’ face grew serious, though his gaze remained unfocused, “these questions… these questions are stupid. It doesn’t matter if I drank all the whiskey, because Brandon will bring us more…”

Eddie sprawled over to grab the flask from Nicklaus’ hand, and Nicklaus let out a delayed exclamation that didn’t sound like English. The cap of the flask wasn’t even on, and Eddie turned it over and shook it. It was bone-dry; he couldn’t even coax the tiniest dribble out from its mouth. He looked back at Nicklaus, who wobbled gently until he fell back onto the bed by Eddie’s stump. “There wasn’t  _ that  _ much left,” he said with a pout.

“You goddamned liar, I hadn’t even had a third… no, not even a  _ fifth _ of this and you went ahead and you drank every last goddamned drop!” Eddie shook the flask in Nicklaus face, and Nicklaus gave a delayed flinch. “This was for  _ me _ , you sonuvabitch! How…  _ how could even drink all of this? _ ”

Nicklaus let out a dismissive “psssh” noise and waved his hand clumsily through the air, as though he were swatting at an invisible fly. “You complain too much. Don’t worry about that, Eddie. It’s fine, we’ll get more--”

“That ain’t the point, Nick,” said Eddie, looming over Nicklaus. “The point is you drank all that in a matter of  _ hours _ . The  _ point _ is that you lied to me when I saw all those red flags that went up as soon as you laid your eyes on that flask in the first place. The point is that  _ you’re a goddamn alcoholic and you’ve relapsed. _ ”

“So?” asked Nicklaus. “What else can I do down here, except drink? Have sex? Of course, you’d rather do that with the little  _ Schlampe _ than somebody who would treat you right…”

“Oh, like you?” Eddie asked. “What, are you hoping to be my Nurse Nightingale, that if you take care of me that I’ll decide that I like cock now?”

“For someone who doesn’t like cock, you’ve gotten pretty good at sucking it,” said Nicklaus.

“Fuck you!”

“Oh, please do!” said Nicklaus. “You can choke me while you do it, if you want. Should I pretend to be our mistress, or should I be your wife?”

Eddie grabbed a fistful of Nicklaus’ hair, and yanked him up to look him eye-to-eye. Nicklaus let out a startled yet slightly delayed cry, and he blinked several times in an attempt to focus his eyes on Eddie’s, which burned with menace.

“Don’t. You. EVER. Talk that way about her again,” he snarled through clenched teeth.

“Like what?” Nicklaus asked with a snotty defiance. All the muscles in his face drooped in such a way that he could hardly muster a sneer in response. “I’m just saying I could pretend to be her, for you. It’d be a  _ favor _ .” He drew out the last word, letting it ooze out of his mouth like sludge. “She’s dead anyway. It’s not like you’d be  _ cheating _ on her…”

By this point, Eddie’s mind had become so clouded with rage that something deep within his primal, reptilian part of his brain took over, and his arm swung back and he smacked Nicklaus across the mouth with the back of his hand. He let go of Nicklaus’ hair fast enough to send him tumbling off the bed and onto the floor, where he let out an agonized howl as he fell onto his injured backside. Eddie had frozen in position, his arm still aloft in the air, and just stared as Nicklaus rolled back and forth on the floor in agony, now blubbering and gibbering swears in German. Blood and saliva dribbled from Nick’s mouth and onto the carpet, and Eddie slowly lowered his hand and examined it. His first two knuckles had been sliced open. He’d managed to cut up both his hand and Nick’s mouth on the other man’s teeth. He stared as the blood welled up in his wounds for a moment, and then sucked on his knuckles, drawing the fresh blood into his mouth as he watched Nicklaus writhe on the floor.

Eddie was so distracted by this display that he hadn’t heard the door unlock, and only turned around when he heard it creak open. Sybil was standing in the doorway, holding their breakfast tray. She regarded the scene before her, looking from Eddie on the bed nursing his cuts, to Nicklaus drunkenly trying to sit upright, still swearing to himself. Then she looked back to Eddie, her cold eyes half-lidded, silently demanding an explanation.

Eddie pulled his knuckles from his mouth with a wet slurp, and licked his lips. “He drank all the whiskey your boyfriend gave us,” he finally said. “Turns out he’s an alcoholic. We had… an altercation.”

“Is that right?” Sybil asked flatly. Her gaze shifted slightly away from Eddie’s. “Behind you.”

“What—“ was all Eddie managed to get out before something collided with the side of his head, bashing against his ear and sending him toppling over onto the bed. As he clutched his ear, he turned around and saw Nicklaus standing over him, wobbling like an inflatable Bozo the Clown bop bag trying to settle. Nicklaus spit a bloodied loogie onto Eddie’s cheek.

“I’m not your damned punching bag,” he spat. He looked up to Sybil, and pointed at her with an outstretched arm. “And I’m not your living sex doll either, you… you  _ vile bitch! _ ”

Sybil glared at Nicklaus, and Eddie held his breath, not daring to move any further. He kept his gaze locked on Sybil, who maintained an icy pokerface.

“Fine,” she said. “I guess neither of you are getting any food or medicine from me then until you apologize.”

Nicklaus’ newfound bravado instantly deflated, and he stumbled forward. “What?” he asked, but Sybil had already closed the door again, and the lock clicked back into place.

And then, silence.

Nicklaus looked around the room in a daze, his eyes scanning the floor as he tried to process what just happened. Eddie wiped the phlegm and blood off his cheekbone, and Nicklaus quietly slunk away into the corner. He crouched down, faced the wall and hugged his knees. He didn’t say anything more.

“Thanks, Nick,” Eddie said bitterly. “I hope you’re fucking happy.”

Nicklaus didn’t respond. Instead, he rocked back and forth, muttering to himself. Eddie couldn’t make out anything he was saying, whether it was English or German or hell, even Latin for all he knew.

“Nick?” Eddie called out.

“You weren’t supposed to see this,” Nicklaus said, just loud enough for Eddie to hear. “Nobody was supposed to see this.”

“See what?” Eddie asked. “You drunk?”

Nicklaus just curled tighter into a ball, and said nothing. As Eddie settled back onto the bed, idly licking his wounds and staring at the ceiling, he finally had time to think. Brandon knew that Nicklaus was an alcoholic, that much Eddie was sure of. And as much as Nicklaus loved to run his mouth, he’d never once brought this particular subject up. He was still pissed off at Nicklaus for his actions, but the more analytical side of him started to take over, and his mind bubbled with questions. Was this common knowledge? How long had he had this addiction? How long had he been sober? And perhaps more importantly, how did Brandon become privy to this information? Why do this now?

In the corner, Nicklaus began to sob gently into his knees, and let out a pitiful “I’m sorry.”

“You and me both,” said Eddie, and went back to sucking on his fist.


	7. Can't Go Home

The cold, white snow stung at Eddie's bare feet as he ran along the mysterious structure he only ever knew as The Wall. It was grey, the color of dirty snow, and appeared to be a solid, unending block of concrete, and it weaved through the desolate woods in a serpentine manner. The top of the wall was so high it faded into an equally grey fog, obscuring its true height. He'd been running along the wall for months, hoping against hope that eventually he'd come across some sort of gate or door or something that would take him anywhere but amongst the snow and the black, dead trees. Every couple of kilometers, there would be words scrawled on the wall, garishly red on the dull, grey concrete, and they would always be the same: "CAN'T GO HOME." Most times they'd be written over and over and on top of each other as he went down along the wall, until the blended into a meaningless jumble of lines. But right now, the wall was blank. He ran his hand against it as he kept moving, and the cold stung at his eyes and exposed skin. He was only wearing underwear. He was almost always only wearing underwear.

Off somewhere in the distance, he heard a howl echoing through the woods, and he ran faster. The sound seemed to come for him from all sides, and panic took over. The cold tore at his lungs and throat, leaving his windpipe ragged, as another howl could be heard, louder now. As Eddie sped forward, he noticed a black shape in a clearing among the trees, but as he did, he felt something clamp onto his leg, and he fell face-first into the snow. His first immediate thought was that he'd tripped over an upturned root. It wasn't until he saw that his leg was shin-deep in a steel bear trap that the pain kicked in.

Eddie was about to scream, but he clamped his hands over his mouth and muffled it. The metal edges dug into his flesh, coaxing bright red, fresh blood to ooze out onto the snow. Eddie now found himself hyper-ventilating as his chest heaved with every gasp for air. The beast would smell it, surely, he thought. He was going to die.

The black shape he'd seen earlier shifted in the corner of his eye, and let out a nervous bleat. He whipped his head around to see a black goat standing in the middle of a clearing. There was a rope around its neck, and the rope was fastened to a metal stake in the ground. Despite the goat’s long horns and beard, the swollen teats hanging from between her legs like oversized testicles indicated that she was a nanny goat.The goat looked to Eddie, her head tilted up and to the side, and she let out another distressed bleat.

Eddie looked back to the steel trap on his leg. The metal teeth began to resemble real teeth, and as he tried to pry his fingers between the gaps of those teeth, the trap only bit down harder, and sliced open his fingertips. He swore he could hear the trap let out a low, metallic growl. He looked around, and he wanted to cry out for help, but he knew he couldn’t risk it. The Beast would come for him.

And now that he was trapped, the goat’s cries grew louder and more frequent. Eddie, through gritted teeth, tried to shush it, to no avail. The goat’s piercing wails echoed through the forest, bouncing off The Wall and reverberating off every tree. Eddie covered his mouth, trying to swallow his pain, and then he saw a shape gliding out of the woods, moving silently, like a ghost across the snow.

The Beast was a massive, white wolf, though it didn’t look like any earthly wolf. Its proportions were distorted so that it looked more like a living, grotesque caricature of a wolf than a proper wolf; it was long, and thin, all gangly toothpick limbs and skin and fur clinging to a warped skeleton, its ribcage and pelvic bones outlined perfectly. Its head was massive, and long, and as it opened its mouth, it seemed to have an impossible number of teeth, and its thick, blood-red tongue that lolled out of its mouth like a bloated worm. Its eyes were so pale blue they were almost as white as its fur, and as it lurched out the woods, those eyes were locked right onto Eddie’s. Its tongue smeared thick globs of saliva across its black lips, and its drool dribbled out the front of its gaping maw. Eddie went rigid, as its eyes with their Gorgon’s glare seemed to turn his every fiber to stone. His breath caught in his throat, and he held it there, hoping the vapor wouldn’t escape from his mouth and through his fingers somehow. The goat let out a human-like shriek, and the Beast’s head snapped towards it. The Beast began to circle the goat, panting in plumes of white smoke like dragon’s breath. The goat, idiot animal it was, just could not shut up, still crying, still bleating, but its feet still planted firmly on the ground. It was too stupid to even try to escape. But perhaps it knew better than to try. After closing in on the goat, the Beast finally lunged at the smaller animal, and clasped its jaws around the goat’s neck. Its teeth didn’t sink into the goat’s soft flesh, but rather held the smaller animal in place. The Beast crossed its paws in front of the goat’s chest, and it began to mount the goat, its back paws shifting as its monstrous, red-violet penis emerged from its sheath.

Eddie felt the bile start to rise in his throat, and he started to crawl on his hands and knees through the snow, away from this sordid scene, when he was confronted by a pair of naked legs at his eye level. His eyes turned upwards, and he cried out, scrambling backwards as the corpse of Father Richards loomed above him, looking just as he did before he’d been dragged away and out of their prison.

Father Richard’s stiff neck shuddered, and it cracked as he snapped it back into place. His one intact eyeball focused on Eddie, while the other drooped slightly from its socket, down and to his left. Just as he’d been when Eddie saw him last, he was naked from the waist down, covered in blood, and his skin had turned the color of slush on asphalt. “Thomas, my son,” he croaked, as blood dribbled from his lips, “where are you going?”

Eddie was too stunned to answer. Father Richards had used his proper first name, his given name, and for reasons he could not explain, this bothered him as deeply as everything else that currently going on around him. Nobody called him that except his parents. Hell, nobody even called him “Tommy” aside from his brother. Father Richard’s shoulders heaved, and the priest gagged, though his expression barely changed. The dead man finally belched up a wad of paper, and let it roll off his tongue, soaked with blood and saliva.

Father Richard burped again, this time trying to keep his mouth closed. “Sorry,” he said with a weak smile. “Not sure how that got there.”

“What’s going on?” Eddie whimpered. “What do you want from me?”

“Why, we need a witness, of course,” said Father Richards. He swung a stiff arm over towards the Beast, now furiously fucking with the nanny goat, its sagging, mangy balls slapping arrhythmically against the livestock’s teats. Eddie felt sick again, and averted his gaze. “What do you see before you, Thomas?”

Eddie swallowed. “An abomination,” he said, voice quivering.

“That’s right!” Father Richards shouted, as he whipped his head towards the animals. “An abomination unto the Lord, Our God! An unholy copulation between two vile beasts, right here, and we two are the only audience to this blasphemous conception! Blessed are we, Thomas, my son, to witness the beginning of a new, unspeakable evil… the dawn of the fall of mankind!”

“What are you talking about?” Eddie shouted back at him. “Why can’t you just help me? Can’t you see I’m trapped here?”

“We’re both trapped here, Thomas,” said Father Richards.

“No, but… my leg!” Eddie gestured to the trap on his leg, which by now was just a set of mouthless teeth, gums and all, gnawing at his flesh. Funny, he thought to himself, how he almost couldn’t feel it anymore, like it’d gone all numb. “This… this  _ thing _ has my leg!”

“What do you want me to do, Thomas?” asked Father Richards. “I’m  _ dead. _ ”

Eddie couldn’t think of a response. He just stammered dumbly, and as he looked back to his leg, with its tendons and muscles ripped to shreds exposing raw bone, he felt hot tears well up in his eyes. He had no time to pity himself and his sordid situation when a cold, clammy hand with a vice-like grip grabbed a hold of his face, smooshing his cheeks together until the dead man was almost crushing his jaw.

“You’re not  _ watching, _ ” Father Richards hissed. “You turn your eyes away from  _ this _ , when you were so complicit in my death?” He snapped Eddie’s head towards the beastly act taking place before them. “This is nothing, Thomas! This is just the beginning! And you get to wake up, to escape from this frozen Hell, but me, I’m condemned here! This is my eternity, Thomas! I’m damned to act as the midwife and deliver the The Succubus.”

“S-Succubus?” Eddie vaguely remembered Richards calling Sybil that during the rape. “You mean Sybil?”

“No, not Sybil, you fool, you absolute, insipid sheep!” Father Richard’s voice deepened, now husky and completely alien to the simpering Eddie had heard from him when he was alive. “She’s the one who’s causing this. This is her fault! Don’t you see?”

“I don’t understand!” Eddie tried to scream back, though it came out muffled with the death grip on his face, and the crackling and snapping of his own bones. “My leg’s almost off, please, help me!”

“I’m sorry, Thomas,” said Father Richards. “It needs your flesh, your fluids, to gestate. Surely, you understand.”

The teeth chewing on Eddie’s leg finally severed through the bone, and Eddie screeched in agony. Father Richards nonchalantly picked up the freshly severed leg, and held it like it was a rolled-up newspaper. The Beast was pumping furiously at the goat, panting and drooling, its eyes rolling back in its head in ecstasy as its tongue lolled out its open mouth. The goat’s screaming sounded now like a woman screaming in terror, its eyes bulging out, and its legs buckling underneath it. The Beast finally let out a sound that was somewhere between a howl and a shriek, and threw its head back as it trembled all over. The goat’s stomach grew swollen with the Beast’s seed, its body racked with tremors as the Beast finally pulled out its massive, deflating cock, which was still giving out a few weak spurts of semen. Eddie felt dreadfully ill, covering his mouth as he heaved. His eyes bulged as he tried to hold back his vomit.

Father Richards sighed. “Oh, how weak you are,” he said. “How much of that disgust is over your arousal, I wonder?”

Eddie looked down at his crotch. Somehow he hadn’t noticed the rock-hard erection that was straining against his briefs. He immediately crossed his legs, flicking blood across the snow from his stump. “I don’t… that’s not…”

“It can’t be helped,” said Father Richards. “Man is an animal, after all. At least mine is due to rigor mortis.”

The goat finally stepped forward, its knees wobbling as it walked, and it bowed its head in front of Eddie’s severed leg. Baring its teeth, it reached for the leg, and sunk its teeth into its flesh, tearing off a ribbon of it as it began to chew. The Beast turned its back to its audience, and padded back into the woods, though it veered off to the left, in the direction Eddie had been running, and its eyes burned into Eddie. He knew that this wouldn’t be the last time he saw this monster. The goat devoured Eddie’s limb with such carnivorous gusto, it no longer resembled the docile farm animal it once was; it, too, had transformed into a Beast. It tilted its head to the side, and its pupil dilated, the black consuming its entire eyeball. It opened its blood-caked mouth, and let out an overpowering buzzing sound. Eddie tried to cover his ears to block out the sound, but it only grew louder, and louder, and louder…

Eddie gasped as he opened his eyes. His skin was clammy with cold sweat, and he held the sheets covering him with white-knuckled fists. He stared up at the ceiling, the same ceiling he’d woken up to for months on end. Gone were the trees and the snow and wall and the horror that played out before him; he was awake now, still on the couch-bed, in that dim basement. Sadly, the basement was probably the better of the two worlds.

He turned over in his bed expecting to see Nicklaus curled up beside him, but saw only an empty spot in the bed next to him. He heard groaning, though, and he sat up to see Nicklaus splayed out face down on the floor, his arm stretched out toward the door but still falling short.

“Nick?” Eddie asked.

“I’m sorry,” Nicklaus moaned, rolling over onto his side. “Please, please come back, Mistress, I’m sorry…”

Eddie crawled over the bed, and swung his arms over the edge of the bed, placing his palms on the carpeted floor and dragging himself off the bed by his hands. His knees soon followed, hitting the floor, and he approached Nicklaus on his hands and knees. He crawled as far as the chain on his ankle would let him go, and sat on the floor beside Nicklaus.

“What the hell are you doing?” Eddie asked.

“I’m trying to apologize,” said Nicklaus. “I made her mad.”

“Can she even hear you?”

“She’ll come down eventually,” he said. “I know she can hear me.”

“Maybe if you spoke up, she could,” Eddie suggested.

“Can’t,” said Nicklaus. “Too loud. Katzenjammer.”

“Excuse me?”

Nicklaus rolled over, covering his eyes with his arm. “Ah, what’s the word for it…?”

“You’re hungover.”

“That’s it,” said Nicklaus, “I’m hanging over.”

“Get up and get yourself a glass of water,” said Eddie.

“You get it,” Nicklaus murmured.

“You got more legs than me, you get it yourself,” said Eddie.

Nicklaus groaned again, and sat up. He squinted at Eddie, even though the lights were dim, and slowly, he stood to his feet, his joints creaking like rusty hinges, and trudged towards the bathroom. When he turned on the bathroom light switch, he hissed in pain, recoiling like a vampire exposed to sunlight. He reached out to the sink and poured himself a glass of water. He drank deep from it, and let out a sigh as he finished it off. “How are you feeling, Eddie?”

Eddie looked to his stump. “Hurts less,” he said. “Still got pins and needles, though.”

“Do you need a drink?”

“Sure,” said Eddie. He looked toward the door, and rubbed the back of his neck.

Nicklaus hobbled over, spilling a bit of water onto the carpet as he stumbled, and held a fresh glass in front of Eddie’s face. “Here,” he said as Eddie accepted the glass. He lowered himself onto the floor next to Eddie, hissing in pain as he did.

“Thanks,” said Eddie.

Nicklaus murmured something, and fell forward melodramatically onto the floor, face-down against the carpet.

“You say somethin’?” Eddie asked.

“I asked when is she coming back?” Nicklaus said, laying his head to the side. “I’m hungry, my head is killing me, she can’t leave us alone like this…”

“She had before,” said Eddie. He took a sip of his water. “Why should she let up on us now?”

As if on cue, the lock on the door rattled, and Sybil poked her head in. She smiled sweetly. “Hello, boys.”

“I’m sorry!” Nicklaus wailed. “I’m so sorry, please, just give me a drink, just a little bit, please…”

“No,” said Sybil in a clipped tone. “Besides, Brandon and I have plans for the evening. You’ll have to hold on for a bit before I can take care of you. Okay?”

“Well, why the hell even come in at all, then?” Eddie snapped.

Sybil shrugged. “I guess I just wanted to let you know that I accept your apology, Nickie.”

“Oh, thank you,” said Nicklaus, letting out a deep sigh of relief. “That’s so nice…”

“You’re welcome,” she said. “You two be good while I’m gone. ‘Kay?”

“What choice do we have?” Eddie sighed.

“Good boy,” chirped Sybil, and she shut the door again, and the locks clicked tight. She hummed to herself as she galloped up the stairs, giddy with herself.

Eddie and Nicklaus sat there, the both of them silent for a while. Eddie eventually flopped over onto his side beside Nicklaus, and just stared at him. Nicklaus squinted back at him, and grunted.

“I miss the TV,” he whined.

“I miss my goddamned leg,” Eddie said.

“You win,” Nicklaus conceded. “Can we just be quiet now?”

“Sure,” said Eddie. “Whatever.”

“Thank you,” sighed Nicklaus. “Thank you…”

And they just laid there on the carpet, saying nothing more.

______________________________________________________________________________

Brandon’s black Mercedes Benz was parked a block away from where Sybil was walking. Crossing the street from one block to the next brought her into one of the rougher parts of town; Baltimore was a patchwork of “nice” neighborhoods and “bad” ones; the transitions between each as jarring as the next. Sybil clutched the bulging FedEx package to her chest as she walked under the garish lights coming from the lines of strip clubs above her. She felt overdressed, wearing a black hoodie, black jeans and sunglasses, and that fucking Corey Hart song was stuck in her head. Fortunately, most of the drunks and hookers didn’t cast her a second glance.

There, on the corner, lie her goal; a post box, gleaming blue from car headlights. She took a deep breath, and quickened her pace, her eyes locked on the box. She was a scant ten feet away when her shoulder collided against something, and shoved her back a few steps from the impact.

“Hey, watch where you goin’, nigga, I don’t need no drunk-ass--” The man she bumped into her looked up from brushing his shoulder, and stopped mid-sentence. “Oh shit, I’m sorry,” he said. “You okay?”

Sybil went rigid. A witness. She noticed another man standing behind the first. Two witnesses. “I… I’m fine,” she said.

“Girl, the fuck you doin’ on this street in the middle of the gatdamn night, dressed like a backpack bomber or some shit?” the second man asked. He was a scrawny man, clearly black but light-skinned, and he looked as though he was drowning in his oversized Biggie Smalls shirt and his saggy jeans. “You lost?”

“Man, shut up, don’t be rude to a lady,” the first man snapped, swatting the other man on the arm with the back of his hand. The other man was wearing a white, sleeveless tee and khaki shorts, showing off his dark and sculpted arms and calves. Sybil glanced at his sneakers, which looked expensive, and had not a scuff mark on them.

“You were plenty rude to that ho that was hollerin’ at you back there,” his companion said, lowering his voice.

“She was a crack whore, crack whore’s ain’t no proper ladies,” the first man retorted, in an equally hushed tone. He turned back to Sybil. “I apologize, miss, but Dante is right, it ain’t safe out here for a girl like you. This is a bad block, there’s bad people all over the place.” He pointed to his right, to the next street over. “Go the next block over, it’s lit better, less junkies an’ winos an’ pimps runnin’ around.”

“An’ less people that might try an’ jack those Jordans,” Dante said. The first man hushed him, and Sybil started to side-step closer to the box. “Aw, hell, now you scared the poor little white girl.”

“I’m not scared of you,” Sybil snapped. She squeezed the package. She could feel Eddie’s stiff, half-frozen toes inside. She stared them down, and as a car drove by, both men caught a glimpse of her eyes through the sunglasses; cold, hard, the color of arsenic burning. 

“H-hey, take it easy,” the first man said, taking a step back and holding up his hand in front of her, as though he were trying to tame an agitated tiger. “I was just tryin’ to help, miss.”

“I don’t need your help,” she said, her voice now a chilled monotone. “Thank you.”

“We should go, Vernon,” said Dante, grabbing hold of his friend’s bicep. “Right now.”

Vernon cast Sybil an uneasy glance, looked back to Dante, and then back to Sybil, who just stood her ground. He staggered backwards, and the terror on his face grew. Without saying another word, he quickly turned around and fled, walking quickly and with a purpose as those bright white sneakers pounded the pavement. Dante stumbled after him, jogged to catch up with his pace, and then huddled close. Sybil heard indistinct murmurs coming from the skinnier man, but she couldn’t make it out. Not that she much cared.

Her heart was pumping fast, and she found herself giddy on adrenaline. She cast a few furtive glances around her and, when she was certain no one was looking, she approached the post box, opened the creaky hatch and slipped the cargo inside. The deed done, she approached the light pole on the corner of the street, and pounded the cross button with a tightly clenched fist. She stood, arms crossed, and waited, pursing her lips. The orange light of the crosswalk sign began to pulsate, and then blinked into blue. Sybil crossed briskly, her legs making long and almost aggressive strides, clipping past each other, until she reached the end of the next block. Suddenly, she was back under the brighter street lights, sidewalks that weren’t broken or littered with used condoms and vagrant piss. She tilted her sunglasses down her nose, scanning the cars as they sped by in streaks of red and yellow. Finally, a black Mercedes Benz pulled up beside her, vibrating from the muffled bass coming from within, and it stopped alongside Sybil on the passenger’s side. Brandon rolled down the window, turned down the volume on the music just enough to keep the bass thumping, and grinned. “You deliver the package?”

“Hell yeah, I did.” The powerlock door clicked, and she grabbed the handle and sidled on in, leaning back into the leather seat with a sigh of relief. 

Brandon nodded with approval, and drove off. He leaned back in his seat, driving with one at the top of the wheel, and turned the music back up. Sybil looked out the window, her hands held tight between her thighs as she wriggled with impatience.

“What’s up with you?” Brandon asked, turning the music down.

“I got a rush,” she said, “I’m so excited, I just… I just wish I could do something else!”

“Yeah?” asked Brandon, “like what?”

“I dunno,” Sybil said, “kill somebody?”

“Damn, girl,” Brandon chuckled, “you’re all kinds of worked up lately! You’re gonna wear me out at this rate.”

“Don’t you want to, though?” she asked.

Brandon glanced over at her. He looked pensive for a moment, screwing his lips over to the side of his mouth. “Considering the last few sessions we had were all about  _ you _ and what  _ you _ wanted,” said Brandon, “I gotta be honest, yeah. You’re lucky I’m such a nice guy, otherwise I would’ve stuck that hot poker up your snatch instead of on the Professor’s leg stump.”

Sybil shuddered. “But you had fun though… right?”

“Well,” said Brandon, “I like watching you at work. You always go for that psychological shit, like your two little science projects in the basement.” He looked over at her. “How long are you going to keep fucking with them, anyway?”

“Until they’re broken,” said Sybil.

“You could break them a lot faster if you stopped holding back,” said Brandon.

Sybil eyed him curiously. “What do you mean by that?”

Brandon smirked, letting out an amused snort. “You baby them,” he said. “If it were me, I’d’ve chopped off their legs a long-ass time ago. Arms too. Just make them a living torso to fuck, you know? Like pillow people.”

Sybil considered this, glancing at her sneakered feet. “They might not live through that,” she said. “I got lucky with Eddie. If his leg heals, I’ll still be able to play with him some more.”

“See, I’m not like you,” said Brandon. “I want that disposability. If it takes going through a few girls to get one that lives, get one that I can totally ruin… it’d be worth it.”

“You want to do that, then?”

Brandon looked over at her. “What?” he asked. “Like, now?”

“Why not?” Sybil asked. “Find a girl and break her. See how long she lasts.”

Brandon nodded. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “Might as well, right? Why the fuck are you the only one with your little pets?  _ I _ should be doing that shit. And I’m not gonna spoil them like you, either.”

“Oooh,” Sybil wriggled in her seat. “I’m getting turned on already.”

“It won’t even be a pet,” said Brandon. “It’ll be livestock. Cattle. A dumb, fucking cow meant only for dumping my cum. A living Fleshlight that I can fuck whenever I want.”

“Let’s find one right now,” said Sybil. “I wanna do this with you.”

“Yeah?” Brandon asked.

“Yeah,” said Sybil. She leaned over, and kissed Brandon on the side of the mouth. She put her hand over his crotch, and rubbed down on it hard, bringing his cock to full attention. “It sounds so fucking hot.”

“ _ Shit, _ ” Brandon drew the word out, rolling it over his tongue and through his entire mouth like a gumball, “this…  _ this _ is why we’re together.”

“I love you, baby,” said Sybil.

“Love you too, honey,” said Brandon, and blew her a kiss. 

They drove down Pratt Street, and Sybil rolled down her window and leered at the drunk tourists wandering along the Inner Harbor. There were girls in flip-flops, girls with tattoos, girls singing Lorde songs walking with their arms linked around each other’s shoulders so they made a human chain, girls laughing and girls crying and consoling each other.

But there weren’t any girls alone. Sybil huffed, and retreated into the car. “I can’t see any loners,” she said. “They’re all in packs.”

“Yeah, they would be,” Brandon muttered. “Bitches might actually be getting smarter.”

“HEY!” A drunken voice shouted from across the street. “HEY, BRANDON!”

“Who the fuck is that?” Sybil leaned forward and looked past Brandon, and Brandon turned down his music and rolled down the driver’s side window.

The young man approaching the car, put simply, looked like a douchebag. He was dressed in a grungy Brew-Thru sweatshirt, a pair of cut-off denim shorts and purple flip-flops, and his dirty-blonde hair was tied up in a knot on the back of his head. But what caught Sybil’s attention was the girl running to catch up with him; a strung-out, scrawny young thing a tank-top and yoga pants, and had jet-black hair that hung on her head like a wet mop. The man shoved his head into the open window on the driver’s side, and filled the interior with the scent of the beer on his breath. “Brandon!” he said again. “Hey, man, how’s it hangin’? D’you remember me?” Before Brandon could even answer, the young man continued. “It’s me, Shane!”

Brandon’s eyes lit up in recognition. “Shane?” he asked. “Insane Shane?”

“In-Shane in the Membrane!” Shane replied with a grin. “Holy shit, dude, how’ve you been? It’s been what, twelve, thirteen years?”

“More than that,” said Brandon. He stuck out his open hand out, his elbow resting in the open window, and Shane swung his own hand back and clasped Brandon’s.

“Predator handshake?” Sybil asked.

“Oh shit, it is!” Shane laughed. “It totally is, without the flexing!” Shane looked to Brandon. “Who’s your lady-friend here?”

“Shane, this is Sabrina,” said Brandon, without a moment’s hesitation.

“Hey,” said Sybil.

“Nice,” said Shane. “I’m Shane, but you probably already figured that.” He gestured back toward the girl with him with his head. “This is Alexis. She’s from Tennessee.”

“Hi,” said Alexis, her voice thick with vocal fry. She looked all over and around the car. “You didn’t tell me your friend was rich.”

“Yeah, his folks are loaded,” said Shane. “Always made me jealous as a kid. They didn’t like him hanging out with the riff-raff.”

Brandon chuckled. “They didn’t like a lot of the people I hung out with back then.”

The driver in the car behind them leaned on their horn in irritation. Shane whipped around, sneering at the car, and flipped them off, with his middle finger held high. “JUST GO AROUND, ASSHOLE!” The car’s engine growled, like some agitated beast, as the vehicle drove around them, and burst into a roar as it sped off. Brandon nonchalantly turned on his hazards.

“Where you headed to, man?” Shane asked as he turned back to Brandon.

“We were just gonna head back to my place,” said Brandon.

“Aw, really?” Shane groaned. “Already? You sure you don’t wanna go out for drinks? The night is young, my dude.”

“If it’s drinks you want, I got plenty at my place,” said Brandon. “I got a bar, fully stocked… better music than most of the clubs around here, and less people around. And,” he held up a finger for emphasis, and then made a finger-gun, “I got a pool.”

“Yo, seriously?” Shane grinned. “Like, a nice one?”

“Do I look like trailer trash?” Brandon replied. “You know I don’t fuck with that above-ground shit like your neighbors.”

“Shit, why didn’t you say so!” Shane was beaming. “I’m in, dude! You in, Alexis?”

Alexis looked over the car, and met Sybil’s eyes. Her dark eyes met Sybil’s, and immediately the smile on Alexis’ face twisted and turned rigid. She rubbed her arm, and looked to Shane. “I mean… it’s kind of late…”

“It’s not that late, babe, c’mon!” As dirty as Shane was, there was a handsome man that could shine beneath the grime, and it glowed at Alexis, making him look like a beach bum Peter Pan. “It’s okay, Brandon’s cool, me and him go way back! We’ll have fun! We’ll have fun.” He repeated that last sentence in a more firm, reassuring tone, and extended an open hand to her. “Life’s short, babe…”

“… Live large,” Alexis finished. She smiled again, and took his hand.

“Damn right,” said Shane. Brandon unlocked the back door on the driver’s side, and Shane opened it, bowing with a gentlemanly flourish as Alexis laughed. She got in, and scooted to the opposite side as Shane popped in after, and pulled the door shut. “Let’s rock and roll, dude!” Shane said.

“Let’s,” replied Brandon, as he turned off the hazards and drove.

______________________________________________________________________________

When his cellphone rang, Vogel’s eyes snapped open and he sat upright in the hotel bed. He hadn’t been sleeping; he couldn’t sleep even if he’d wanted. He grabbed his phone off the nightstand, and answered it. “Allo?”

“Inspector Vogel?”

“Speaking,” said Vogel.

“It’s Agent Nanahara,” said the voice on the other end breathlessly. “You met Morty?”

“I did,” said Vogel. 

“We need to meet up,” said Nanahara. “I need to know everything that happened, everything he said to you. We need to meet as soon as possible.”

“May I ask what makes this man so important?”

“It’s… hard to explain,” said Nanahara. “I’d rather not go into the whole thing over the phone. Where are you right now?”

“In my hotel room,” said Vogel. “At the Hyatt Regency hotel.”

“Right on the Inner Harbor?”

“Yes,” said Vogel.

“I’m on my way,” said Nanahara. “Meet me in the hotel lobby. I shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes to get there.”

“Very well,” said Vogel. “I will be waiting for you. I do hope you can provide me with some answers.”

“I’ll do my best,” said Nanahara. “See you soon.” And he hung up.

Vogel glanced over his phone, and set it on the nightstand. He put on his shoes, put on his suit jacket, put his phone in his suit pocket, and left his hotel room. One elevator ride later he was in the lobby, sitting at the Lobby café with a cup of black coffee. The smell of coffee was always so much more intoxicating than the taste. Vogel always wondered why this was, as taste and smell were inexorably linked senses, and how something smelled was always a good indication of how it would taste. Not so for coffee, tricky elixir that it was. He’d learned to accommodate himself to the sharp, bitter taste, if only because it lit up the rest of his senses like a 100 watt bulb. He could feel the electricity singing through his nerves as the coffee slid down past his tongue, and he felt like a human Christmas tree. He felt light warming him from within and shining out the tips of his fingers. Steam filled his sinuses and lungs. He was aglow.

Somewhere close by, Vogel heard the swing of a revolving door, and his head snapped in its direction. He stared in anticipation as footsteps tread closer, and the sounds of polite chatter could be heard. It was most certainly the FBI agent, accompanied by… what sounded like nails on ceramic tile?

When Nanahara came into view and made eye contact with Vogel, his sped up his pace. By his feet was the dog in the broom closet, snorting and panting like a little black pig, and wearing an oversized vest that said “POLICE” on it. Vogel frowned. The mere presence of the animal brought a farcical atmosphere to an already curious set of circumstances. The dog was just too much.

“Hey,” said Nanahara, as he took a seat opposite of Vogel. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”

“You’re early,” said Vogel.

“I was in a hurry,” said Nanahara. “Tell me about what happened with Morty.”

“He implied that our cases are related,” said Vogel. “How he could possibly know such a thing, I can’t imagine, but he does seem quite observant. He says he witnessed Nicklaus Messmer’s abduction.”

Nanahara leaned forward. “Go on,” he said.

Vogel recounted Morty’s account, and Nanahara listened, his fingers laced together in front of his mouth. By the time Vogel finished, Nanahara had barely moved, and even the dog sitting on the floor was rapt with attention.

“So,” said Vogel, “why is he sending me to you?”

“Obviously he thinks that this woman is playing a part in the abductions and murders going on,” said Nanahara. “This isn’t my first experience with him. His tips are accurate, Inspector. He hasn’t steered me wrong yet.”

“Where exactly does he get these ‘tips?’” Vogel asked. “Why would you trust this man at all? He comes out of nowhere and just says these things with such certainty. If he knows about a connection between our two cases, why not go to you?”

“I learned a long time ago to stop questioning his methodology,” said Nanahara. “He’s not like you and I, Inspector. He’s operating on a level that most ordinary people can’t comprehend. You had to have felt it when you were there with him, right? That something was different about him?”

Vogel remembered the way Morty smelled, that smell of old death. It was what he imagined a mummy must smell like. “He did strike me as odd,” said Vogel, “and it had nothing to do with his missing arm.”

“But you felt  _ something _ ,” said Nanahara. “Something you couldn’t explain, something that made you take him seriously when you might not have otherwise… that’s why you agreed to meet with me. Because you know he knows something.”

“If he knows that this woman that drugged Messmer is connected to your case, then why did not explain how?” Vogel asked. “Is she participating in these murders? Is she working with someone?”

Nanahara rested his hand on his cheek, and looked down at the dog. She looked back, with her bugged-out eyes, wiggling in anticipation. She grunted, and let out a soft “woof.”

“She’s working with Brandon Hamilton.” Nanahara’s eyes widened as he looked up. “There’s no way he wouldn’t have noticed her drugging that drink. They were the last people seen with Messmer. The body of Father Richards was found with semen and female handprints on it.” He stood up from his chair, and started to pace back and forth beside the table. “Most of the victims have been female, with the first possible male victim being Professor Thomas Edison Crickett, who still hasn’t been found. The murders from there kept getting more elaborate, the state of the bodies deviated from the original killer’s pattern… what was the description that bartender gave you about that woman again?” Nanahara whirled around to look at Vogel.

“She said she had “spooky eyes,” said Vogel.

Nanahara whipped his phone out of his pocket, and began pressing buttons on the screen. He hunched over as he scrolled through, his index finger sweeping over its surface, before he stopped. He then showed the screen to Vogel. “Do these eyes look ‘spooky’ enough for you?”

Vogel took Nanahara’s phone and peered at the screen. On it, there was an image of a young woman who could not have been more than twenty, with messy blonde hair and the widest, palest and bluest eyes he’d ever seen. “Who is this?”

“Sybil Womack,” said Nanahara. “Her car was found five months ago in the woods just off Pulaski highway with a charred corpse inside. It matched her approximate height and weight, but the investigation was cut short.”

“Do you know why?”

“Detective Polanski took it over.”

Vogel’s eyes narrowed. “Polanski,” he said. “I spoke with him. He told me to stay away from the Hamilton family.”

“Which means that he’s probably protecting them,” said Nanahara. “So if Brandon is our suspect… Polanski is likely involved in keeping the heat off of him.”

The two men stared at each other in realization. Nanahara took a deep breath. “It makes sense,” said Nanahara. “This could be the tip we need, we finally have a suspect and an accomplice! All we need is some solid evidence we can present to get an arrest warrant.”

“And how difficult will that be?” Vogel asked.

“I don’t know,” said Nanahara. “But we’re going to have to build a very solid case. We can’t let this bastard get away with this.”

Vogel nodded. He paused for a moment before he spoke again. “Can I ask you something, agent Nanahara?”

“Of course.” Nanahara sat back down in his chair. “What is it?”

“Do you believe Morty when he says that Messmer is still alive somehow?” Vogel asked. “Because I find it hard to believe that he’d have any reason to keep him alive.”

“I trust Morty’s instincts,” said Nanahara. “If he says Messmer is alive, then I know there’s hope he’s still alive.”

“So you’re trusting the feelings of this man, without any real evidence?” Vogel asked.

“Look,” said Nanahara, “I know how it sounds. It sounds kooky. But Morty’s hunches ended up leading to key evidence that helped the FBI bust a child pornography ring three years ago. We wouldn’t have been able to do it without him.  _ I _ wouldn’t have been able to do it without him.” He paused, and his eyes wandered to meet his dog’s. “He wanted to help. He knew most of the guys from the Bureau wouldn’t believe him. So he sought me out, and I felt it, you know, about him. I could’ve turned him away when he came to me. But he gave me a name, and a direction to go in, when I didn’t know where else to go. And just following up on that… that changed everything.” He looked back up to Vogel with smiling eyes. “We got our guys, and all because of a one-armed stranger that gave me an address.”

Vogel took a moment to digest all this information. “And have you come across him since?”

“A couple of times,” said Nanahara. “He just has this tendency to be where he needs to be. You’ll see.”

“I see,” said Vogel. “So, now, we go after Polanski.”

“And gather as much evidence as we can,” said Nanahara. “If we get enough, we’ll have him on the ropes. I’ll talk to Burton. I’ve got your number, so we’ll be in touch.”

“I do hope you’re right about this,” said Vogel. “I don’t want to waste valuable time.”

“Exploring any possible lead isn’t a waste of time, it’s being thorough,” said Nanahara as he stood up from his chair. “I’ll give you a call by tomorrow, Inspector.” He started to walk off, with the pug trotting alongside him, before he swiveled on the ball of foot. “Oh!” he said. “Just real quick… your first name’s Hubert, right?”

“Yes,” said Vogel. “It is.”

“Is it alright if I call you Hubert?” Nanahara asked. “Or Huey?”

Vogel winced. “Please, do not ever call me Huey,” he said. “Vogel is fine.”

Nanahara shrugged. “No harm in asking,” he said, and walked out the lobby, his little dog in tow.

Vogel sat where he was, and mulled over his coffee. Morty had attracted his curiosity, and Nanahara only bolstered that curiosity with the way he spoke of the man. Who was he, really? How could he be sure he wasn’t a rambling, senile old man, or worse, an interloper directly trying to interfere with the case by throwing them off track?

Somehow, deep in his gut, he couldn’t commit himself to either possibility, at least not in full. Perhaps the man was a bit senile. Perhaps he did have something to gain from this. And yet, he still had that feeling he couldn’t shake, that feeling Nanahara felt too, that this man knew something. Perhaps he even knew more than he was letting on.

Vogel finished his coffee, and stood up. He wouldn’t be getting much sleep tonight. He had research to do.


	8. Party Time

The woods around Brandon’s Hamilton’s house were dark and thick, the tops of the trees blotting out the sky. The road twisted up a steep hill, and when it reached the top, Brandon turned the car to the right at a single, lonely lamppost. The light was under siege by a swarm of bugs, all swinging around in the air in lazy loop-de-loops around a false moon. He pressed a button attached to the visor, and the garage door rolled open. The garage light flicked on as Brandon pulled in and parked. As he turned the key in the ignition, the car lights and the stereo switched off, creating a jarring transition from sick bass beats to crickets chirping and a lone dog barking somewhere far off in the distance.

“I’m actually kinda surprised,” said Shane. “I expected you to have one of those garages with rotating cars. Or at least a Lamborghini.”

“My dad has a Lamborghini,” scoffed Brandon. “He doesn’t even fucking drive it. It just sits in his garage and he goes ballistic if he sees somebody left a handprint on it.”

“Ha ha, that sounds like him,” said Shane. 

“You ever meet him?” Sybil asked.

“Oh, hell naw,” said Shane, opening the car door. “Daddy Hammy would’ve flipped his shit if he’d seen my scruffy ass hangin’ around his property.”

“That’s terrible,” said Alexis.

“That’s rich people for ya,” Shane said with a shrug as he stepped out. “Old money types, right Brandon?”

“My dad’s not old money,” Brandon corrected. He pressed the garage door button again, and the door slowly cranked back down. “He just acts like it because he hates the Nouveau Rich.” 

“So, he basically hates himself, then?” Alexis asked.

Brandon looked back at Alexis, and squinted, just for a moment, before he let out a warm chuckle. “He’s too much of a narcissist to hate himself,” he said.

“Sometimes narcissists hate themselves more than they’d admit,” said Alexis. “That’s why they project all their flaws onto everybody else.”

“Wisdom,” said Shane.

All four them got out of the car, and entered the house through a door at the top of a short set of concrete steps. Brandon switched on the lights as they entered the house proper. The majority of the walls were painted white, but there were also walls with wood paneling from when the bungalow was first constructed. Brandon lead them to the living room, which contrasted its wood-paneled walls with full-length windows overlooking the patio, the swimming pool, and far back in the backyard, barely lit by the patio lights, the shed.

Shane stopped in front of a framed print hanging on the living room wall of a white-skinned woman with black hair and cherry-red lips. “Hey, whoa, check it out, Lexi,” he said, “it looks kind of like you.”

“Am I really that pale?” she asked.

“That’s a Nagel print,” said Brandon, turning on the patio lights. “My dad picked it up in the 80’s, before Nagel died.”

“I don’t think it looks that much like me,” said Alexis. “She’s so… I don’t know…”

“Strong? Sexy? Smart-looking? Totally like you?” Shane leaned into her and gave her a playful bump. “If you did your hair the same way, it’d totally look like you.”

“Ugh, shut up,” she said with an embarrassed smile, shoving Shane back. “You’re such a dork.”

“Nagel based his women off powerful women in his life,” said Brandon, “including his mother and sister.”

“Ha ha ha, gross,” smirked Sybil, as she flopped on the couch.

“So, he had some kind of Oedipus complex shit going on?” Alexis asked.

“Man, you know this world ain’t nothin’ but a bunch of motherfuckers,” said Shane. He grinned at his own joke.

Sybil blew her hair out of her face, and looked to Brandon. “We should have those drinks already,” she said. “You wanna show them the bar?”

“Oh yeah, you said you had a bar! And a pool!” Shane headed for the window, and peered outside. “Holy shit, you got a diving board, even!”

“I don’t think you packed you swim trunks, Shane,” said Brandon, looking to Shane with a smirk.

“Who needs trunks?” scoffed Shane. “I’ll just swim in my tightie-whities… or skinny dipping, maybe?” He looked back to Alexis, and winked.

“Yeah, just jump into your friends nice-ass pool with your junk hanging out,” said Alexis.

“That’s what they got chlorine for!” said Shane.

“Like anybody wants to see your shrimp dick,” scoffed Brandon.

“Oh, so you can vouch for the size of his junk?” asked Sybil with a devious smile.

“I can,” said Alexis, “and it’s not shrimpy. Not unless that water is really cold, anyway.”

“That happens to every guy!” Shane protested, “Including Big Dick Rich Kid over here.”

“I dunno,” said Brandon. “Some of us are just born lucky.”

“Fuck you, you bourgeois pig,” Shane said with a laugh.

“You’re not turning commie on me, are you, Shane?”

“Nah, that’d require me to actually wanna do some honest work, dawg,” said Shane.

Sybil opened the basement door, and switched on the light. “You guys can measure your dicks after you’re drunk,” she said. “C’mon.”

She walked down the basement stairs, and past the door just at the bottom immediately to the right. Alexis followed behind her, and idly jangled the keys hanging from the hook beside the door. “What’re these for?”

“That’s a storage room,” Brandon said. “Nothing in there but old garbage.”

“What’re you doing holding onto old garbage?” Shane asked.

“Don’t ask me,” said Brandon. “It’s her old garbage.” He motioned to Sybil.

“Ha ha, shut up,” Sybil jeered. 

“Kinda weird that you got a room in your house that locks from the outside,” said Alexis, as she sat on one of the bar stools. “Did it come that way when you bought the house? Just seems kind of weird, right?”

“You ask a lot of fuckin’ questions,” said Sybil.

Alexis recoiled slightly, her nose scrunched up. “Sorry?” she said.

“What she means is, yeah, it did come that way,” said Brandon. “That’s why I use it for storage space. Pardon my lovely companion, she’s just blunt. It’s part of her charm.” He leaned on the bar, and smiled at Sybil. “Can you pour me a glass of Hennessy, pumpkin?”

“Sure thing,” Sybil said with a flirty smile. She grabbed the bottle of the honey-colored cognac and a glass, set them on the counter, and twisted the bottle open. She poured it into the glass, smoothly, like she was modeling it for a commercial in front of a camera, and tilted the bottle back up in one graceful arc. She pushed the glass forward toward Brandon with her fingertips. “Here you go.”

“Thanks, babe,” he said, and took a sip. “Mmmm,” he said. “Excellent.”

“Am I gonna get chewed out if I ask if you used to be a bartender?” Alexis asked.

Sybil looked at Alexis with a cold, lidded stare for a moment. She smirked. “I never tended bar,” she said. “Why?”

“You just remind me of a friend of my big sister’s who was a bartender,” said Alexis. “The way you move. It’s showy, you know?”

“That’s just how I move,” said Sybil. “You want a drink or not?”

“Uh, sure,” said Alexis. “You got any Wild Turkey back there?”

“Wild Turkey?” Brandon asked.

“Little lady loves her some Wild Turkey,” said Shane.

“I might be a Tennessee girl, but nobody makes a whisky like Kentucky,” said Alexis.

“Well, lucky for you, I got a hold of some Wild Turkey recently,” said Brandon. “Sweetie, if you can grab that bottle right there,” he pointed to a nearly half-empty bottle of the bourbon sitting on the back shelf. “I’m gonna put on some music.”

Sybil grabbed another glass and poured Alexis a glass of whisky. She looked to Shane with a quirked eyebrow.

“Hey, uh… you got any Smirnoff back there?” Shane asked.

“Smirnoff?” Brandon whirled around from the stereo system. “Jesus Christ, man, you really are slumming it, aren’t you?”

“What’s wrong with Smirnoff?” Shane asked.

“What’s wrong with Smirnoff?” Brandon echoed in disbelief. He picked up an iPod from on top of his CD rack and shook his head. “Look, I know you don’t have a lot of money, so you can’t afford nice stuff, but Jesus, you need to have some goddamned standards. Sweetie, pour him a Ciroc. And put some soda water in it. Show this poor man the error of his ways.” He rolled the wheel on the device, and held it aloft and waggled it. “You heard of Run the Jewels, Shane?”

“Run the Jewels?” Shane asked, as Sybil poured him a glass, a bottle of Ciroc in one hand and a bottle of soda water in the other. “That sounds familiar. What are they, rap?”

“Amongst the finest of modern hip hop, my friend,” Brandon replied. He pressed “play” on the iPod, and mounted it in its slot on the stereo. “This shit is legit. I found out about them when I heard that Big Boi guested on a track on their first mixtape.”

“No shit!” Shane said, drowned out by Killer Mike’s bombastic intro to the first track. “Big Boi? That’s rad. And you still use an iPod? You absolute madman!”

“I don’t like Spotify and it’s nice to have somewhere to put all those CDs I bought in high school,” said Brandon. “And I find new shit on Soundcloud and Bandcamp anyway.”

Alexis took a sip from her glass, and looked over to Sybil, who was pouring herself a glass of ginger ale. “Not drinking?” she asked.

“I’m good,” she said.

“Aw, you’re not gonna drive us home, are ya?” Shane asked. “Can we not crash here, Brandon? You gonna put us back out on the streets?”

“Out on the streets?” asked Brandon.

“Yeah, man,” said Shane. “Alexis and I, we’ve been couch-surfing the past few weeks. Y’know, I got evicted, then I got fired from my job, my parents have cut me off completely… we’ve literally been living off the goodwill of old friends, y’know, as long as they can stand having us around. We’d just gotten the boot from my dealer’s place, and we were just wandering around, when all of the sudden, I see none other than my old bro from way back Brandon Motherfuckin’ Hamilton driving around, offering us all of this hospitality… I mean, it’s not too much to ask to let a bud crash on your couch for the night, right?”

Brandon’s mouth twisted into an odd, crooked shape for a moment, as though he’d just witnessed Shane step barefoot into a pile of steaming dog shit, before it smoothed out into a smile. “Shane,” he said, “you’re welcome to stay here until you die, as far as I’m concerned.”

Shane laughed, his upper lip curling back as he laughed. He looked like a horse. “Holy shit, dude,” he said, “that’s gotta be the weirdest way to invite a guy to stay I’ve ever heard. You make it sound like you’re actually gonna try and kill me later!”

Brandon wheezed out a laugh, and doubled over. Shane joined him, braying like a horse. Alexis twisted a lock of her hair around her finger, and looked between the two of them, and back to Sybil. She looked Sybil up and down, over the black hoodie and black pants, and back to Brandon his white silk shirt and black slacks. She tried to smile, but it faltered on her face, turning into a grimace.

Something bumped against the wall behind the stereo in time with the beat of the music, which caused the stereo to rattle, and Alexis to flinch in her seat. “What’s that?”

“Sound system bumps against the wall sometimes,” said Brandon. He pounded on the wall three times in rapid succession. “How’s your drinks?”

“Good shit,” said Shane. “I like it.”

“More than Smirnoff?”

“That depends on how much it costs,” said Shane.

“Well, you won’t have to worry about that,” said Brandon. “At least for now.”

The banging back on the wall came back, harder now, still in beat with the music. Alexis slid off the bar stool, looking toward the direction of the noise. “Is there something in there?” she asked.

“Dude, do you have like, a raccoon in there or something?” Shane asked.

“Why the fuck would I have a raccoon in my house?” asked Brandon.

“I dunno, man, they can get into people’s houses,” said Shane with a shrug. “A raccoon got into my grandma’s attic and had a bunch of babies one time. They made a lot of scratching and bumping noises, and we are out in the middle of the woods. Dude!” Shane drank deep from his glass, and placed it, now almost completely empty back down on the counter. “We should go in there and catch it!”

Sybil’s eyes went wide, and she smacked the counter. “No!” she exclaimed, causing Alexis to flinch. Sybil took a deep breath. “It could have fucking rabies if it’s a raccoon. We’ll just call animal control in the morning.”

“I guess, sure,” said Shane.

Brandon walked over to the glass door on the far side of the basement, and flipped the light switch on beside the door frame. Outside, the pool lit up from the inside, emitting an otherworldly, blue glow. He turned a dial next to the light switch, and the stereo by the wall went silent as the bass now shook the glass door from the outside.

“Nice!” said Shane, grinning as Brandon slid the glass door open.

“You guys coming out or what?” Brandon asked.

Sybil slipped out from behind the counter and out the glass door, moving like a fairy hopping across dew-laden toadstools. Shane slid off his bar stool, but he was stopped by Alexis, who grabbed hold of his arm.

“Hey,” she said, “can I talk to you a minute?”

“Sure, babe,” said Shane. He looked back to Brandon. “We’ll be out in a sec, ‘kay, man?”

Brandon stared at them, dead-eyed, for a half of a second, before he gave them a tight-lipped smile and held out his drink towards them with a nod. “Sure thing,” he said, and he headed out, closing the glass door behind him before any more bugs could flutter inside.

“Something wrong, babe?” Shane asked.

“Your friend is giving me the creeps,” said Alexis.

“Brandon? What?” Shane chuckled in disbelief. “He’s cool, Lexi, he’s cool.

“Did he always act this weird?”

“Well, I mean…” Shane shrugged, and sighed. “He’s always been kind of weird, I guess. Why?”

“Whatever was banging against the wall over there,” Alexis gestured towards it with a jerk of her head, “was not a goddamn raccoon.”

Shane stared at her blankly, and looked over to the wall. “Well, what else would it be?” he asked.

Alexis hesitated, and stepped closer to Shane. “It sounded,” she said, her voice lowered into a harsh whisper, “it sounded like a  _ person. _ ”

“Why would he have somebody locked in his storage room?”

“What if it’s not a storage room?” Alexis asked. “What if he’s got somebody locked in there and he doesn’t want us to know about it?”

“Who would he have locked in a room?”

“I don’t know! Somebody!” Alexis shook with nervous energy. “I don’t know, and I don’t care. I just know that it sounds like there’s a person in there.”

“I think you’re imagining things,” said Shane.

“Am I?” asked Alexis. She recoiled for Shane, her shoulders slumping back as her eyes went toward the ground. “Am I?” she asked again, her voice softer, more delicate.

“Maybe a little,” said Shane.

“Yeah,” said Alexis. She brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face, and looked up to Shane sheepishly. “I just… I have a bad feeling, alright? I can’t explain it. I can feel it in my gut.”

Shane placed his hands gently on Alexis’ shoulders, and tilted his head to catch her downward gaze. “Hey,” he said, “I’ll prove to you there’s nothing to worry about.”

“You will?”

“Sure!” said Shane. “I’ll do it right now!” He took Alexis by the hand and lead her over to the door of the locked room. They stopped in front of it, and Shane looked back to Alexis with a cheeky smirk on his face. “Watch,” he said, and he banged his fist on the door. “Hey!” he shouted. “Are there any raccoons in there? ‘Cause you better come out with your furry little paws up!”

There was nothing but silence coming from the other side of the door. “See? No people in there--”

Something behind the door thumped onto the floor, followed by metallic clinking sounds. What might have been muffled speech could be heard. Shane leaned in toward the door, placing his hand against the polished oak surface before he pressed his ear against it. He glanced back at Alexis, who stood there, wringing her hands and looking on with visible dread.

“H-hello?” Shane called out. “Is there somebody actually in there?”

“Hey!”

Shane jolted at the sound of Brandon’s voice, and stood up straight as Brandon peeked around from the far edge of the basement hallway. “Uh, hey dude!” he said, and quickly held up his hand to say “hello” before putting it back down again just as quickly.

“What are you doing?” Brandon asked. His nose wrinkled and his lip curled back into a sneer.

“Nothin’, dude,” said Shane. “Just noth--”

“Is there a person in there?” Alexis blurted out. She slipped behind Shane, and held onto his shoulders.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Brandon asked.

Alexis jabbed Shane in the back with her elbow, and Shane let out a surprised grunt before he spoke. “Uh, the noises!” Shane exclaimed. “I just… they kinda sound like there’s a… a  _ person _ in there, dude.”

“ _ People, _ ” said Alexis.

Brandon leaned onto the wall on the door’s side, crossing both his arms and legs, and looked at Shane and Alexis for a moment in contemplation, his tongue feeling out the inside of his cheek. “Huh,” he said. “You really think I’d do something like that, Shane?”

Shane let out a nervous laugh. “I dunno, I mean… we did some crazy shit back in the day, man, you’d take things too far sometimes…” 

Brandon raised his eyebrows. “I did?”

“I mean… we were kids!” said Shane. “Kids don’t know, like… boundaries, or whatever, right?”

Brandon chuckled. “I guess not,” he said. “I guess not.”

“So, what’s in there?” asked Alexis. “If it’s not people… what is it?”

“That,” said Brandon with a smile, “is a secret.”

“Why?” Alexis demanded. “Are you hiding something?”

“We’re all hiding something,” said Brandon coolly. “Most people just don’t start shoving their noses in other people’s business because they thought they heard a noise. You don’t see me asking about your personal business, do you?”

“Are you saying you got something to hide?” asked Alexis.

“Are you saying you don’t?”

The two of them locked eyes, and Alexis found herself trapped by Brandon’s smiling, green eyes. They seemed flat, somehow,as she looked into them; dull, like a reptile’s, like there was nothing there. She found herself trying to force out some kind of response, but the words caught in her throat, and she could only cough up sharp syllables that choked her coming out.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Shane finally stepped between them, laying a firm hand flat against Alexis’ chest above her breasts. “let’s calm down, okay? We’re out in the middle of the woods, it’s dark, we got active imaginations going on, right? Whatever’s in there, Brandon, it’s not people, right?”

“No,” said Brandon. “I guarantee you that what I have in there? It’s not human.”

“Can I see it?” asked Alexis.

Brandon laughed. “Sure, you can,” he said. “Later, though. Trust me.”

“Yo, they’re not like, animals or something, are they?” asked Shane. “Are you keeping puppies from me, man?”

“You’ll find out,” said Brandon in a sing-song voice.

“Hey!” The glass door to the back yard slid open as Sybil poked her head inside. “Are you guys coming or what?”

“Coming, sweetie!” Brandon called back. He looked back to Alexis and Shane. “You guys joining us?”

“Sure,” said Shane. He put an arm around Alexis. “Right, babe?”

“R-right…” said Alexis.

Brandon stepped outside through the glass door, and Shane lead Alexis after him. “Don’t worry,” Shane whispered in Alexis’ ear, “everything’s gonna be okay. I’m right here.” He gave her a quick kiss on her temple.

Alexis smiled, and gave a relieved sigh. As they passed through the open door and out into the humid night, they saw Sybil’s clothes strewn about on the concrete surrounding the pool area. Sybil dove in like a kingfisher, as though she’d been waiting for Shane and Alexis to come out, just so they could watch her. She popped back up above the surface, wearing only sheer, white underwear that was now clinging to her slight frame, leaving little to the imagination.

“Took you guys long enough,” said Sybil. She flipped her wet hair out of her face. “What happened?”

“It was nothin’, nothin’,” said Shane.

“Just a misunderstanding,” said Brandon as he unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his hairless chest. “It’s all good.” He pulled his shirt back, pulled his arms out the sleeves and tossed it aside onto a deck chair. His torso was now exposed in its entirety, illuminated by the shimmering, blue light coming from the pool, which highlighted his sleek, smooth and svelte frame as the light caressed his pecs and abdominals. He looked to Alexis, and gave her a flirty little wink. “Right?”

“Hey!” said Shane, pulling a deep, southern drawl. “Quit makin’ goo-goo eyes at my woman!”

“Or else what?” asked Brandon, as he adapted a bow-legged, cowboy stance.

“Or else I’m gonna hafta put you in your place, boy,” said Shane, mimicking Brandon’s pose.

“An’ how are ya gonna do that,  _ pardner? _ ” Brandon asked.

“God, just whip your dicks out already!” Sybil shouted.

“Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” Brandon called back to Sybil as he looked back over his shoulder.

“Shouldn’t have let your guard down, motherfucker!” Shane shouted as he ran towards Brandon, tackling him back into the pool as Sybil swam out of their way. 

Water splashed back onto Alexis, who gave a startled shriek that turned into relieved laughter. Sybil swam around the two young men as they wrestled in the water, shoving and dunking each other under. She swam to the edge, closest to Alexis, and rolled her eyes. “Boys,” she said.

Alexis giggled, and the tension draining from her shoulders. She slipped out of her flip-flops, and sat on the edge of the pool, dipping her feet into the water. Shane had Brendan in a headlock and was grinding his knuckles into his soaked chestnut mop.

“Say uncle, fucker!” Shane crowed.

“You… uncle-fucker!” Brandon shouted, tossing his entire weight backwards to send both him and Shane back into the water with one, swift movement.

Alexis laughed louder now and tried feebly to cover her mouth. Sybil eyed her legs as they idly kicked in the water, and she swam closer to Alexis, her eyes peeking above the water. As she stretched her arms out in front of her in a breaststroke, she grabbed a hold of Alexis’ ankles. As Alexis shrieked, Sybil dragged her into the water, causing Alexis to go under, ass-first, into the pool. As Sybil laughed, Alexis surfaced, gasping more in shock than for air.

“Why would you  _ do _ that?” Alexis asked, and playfully shoved the water surrounding her towards Sybil. “You weirdo!”

“You looked like you needed to cool off,” teased Sybil.

“Yeah, well…” Alexis stopped. She reached down and patted her thighs. “Shit...”

Immediately, Shane stood upright, releasing Brandon from a headlock. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“My phone!” Alexis whined. She climbed out of the pool and slid her hand down her thigh, her fingers gripping onto the edges of an iPhone and pulling it out from its snug pocket as though it were a splinter. She looked over it, trying to turn it on and getting no response from the device. “My phone is fucking dead! You ruined my phone!”

Sybil retreated further into the water and dipped her head halfway underneath, so her eyes were just above the surface. Brandon stood up and brushed his hair out of his eyes. “Hey, whoa, calm down,” he said. “I can replace it.”

“That’s not--” Alexis groaned. “I just… she killed my phone!”

“Hey Brandon,” said Shane. “You got any rice?”

“Rice?” Brandon asked. “Well, yeah, I do. Why?”

“Babe,” Shane waded through the water towards Alexis, “just put your phone in a bag of rice and leave it overnight. The rice soaks up the water and your phone should be fine.”

Alexis scoffed. “What?”

“It works, it really does!” Shane insisted. “I’ve done it before. I dropped my phone in the toilet, left it in a bag of rice overnight, and it worked again.”

“And that really works?” asked Alexis, sounding skeptical.

“I swear by it,” said Shane.

“Look, if it doesn’t work, I can replace it,” said Brandon. “It’s not like I’m hard up for cash like the thrifty drifter over here.”

“Okay,” said Alexis. Her gaze wandered over to Sybil, and she glared at the girl expectantly.

Sybil lifted the rest of her head above water just long enough to give out an insincere “sorry” before she submerged her mouth again, trying to hide the impish smile on her lips.

“Whatever,” said Alexis. She looked to Brandon. “Where’s your kitchen?”

Brandon pointed behind Alexis. The house was rested on a hill, with stairs to a deck leading up from the pool area to the first floor. “Right through the glass doors,” said Brandon. “You want me to…?”

“I’ll be fine,” said Alexis in a nervous, clipped tone. “I got it. I’ll be fine.”

“… Get you a towel?” Brandon finished, giving her a smarmy look.

Alexis huffed. Her head bobbed around as she scanned the pool area until she spotted a towel folded up on a lounge chair. She grabbed it and walked up the steps to the balcony as she dried herself off. She went inside through the glass door to the kitchen and she was finally alone.

She rummaged through the cabinets, tossing aside half-empty boxes of dried goods until she found a half a bag of white rice and an opened box full of Ziploc baggies. She fumbled with the bag of rice, trying to pour it into the baggie, but spilled rice on the floor.

“Shit,” she muttered. Her coordination was off. The alcohol was kicking in. She opened the baggie and used it as a scoop for the rice, and then slipped her phone in. She ran her forefinger and her thumb across the plastic seal and set it on the counter. She breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully, that would work.

Then she heard a thud.

She whirled around, back against the counter, and saw no one. The sound seemed to come from downstairs. That room. What was in that room? Maybe… maybe she could run downstairs and peek. Brandon and his girlfriend were acting so weird about whatever was in there. There wasn’t a person down there… was there? Why would they have a person down there locked in a room anyway?

She crept through the darkened house until she found the stairway to the basement. Her shadow stretched down the stairs, stopping just in front of that door. She took a deep breath and exhaled through her mouth before she set her foot on the first step down. The stair beneath creaked softly under her weight. The noise startled her, and she scuttled down the stairs on her tip-toes until she reached the bottom.

Alexis stood in front of the door for a moment. The keys were hanging on the wall on her right-hand side. Carefully, she lifted them off their hook, trying not to make too much noise. As she flipped through the keys, trying to look for the most obvious match, she landed on one that matched the brassy color of the knob. Slowly, she inserted the key into the knob, and twisted it until it clicked open. She sucked in her breath, and pushed it open.

She wasn’t sure what, exactly, she was expecting to see behind this door. A child, a senile old lady, maybe a young woman like herself tied to a chair… honestly, she had no idea. What she was not expecting to see, though, was a pair of shirtless, middle-aged men sitting and staring back at her. There was a skinny one with long hair and a beard, sitting on the floor like a dog, and another one with short hair and tattoos across his chest, sitting up on a bed. Just as her eyes strayed to the floor, and to the chains on the floor, the bearded man lurched forward toward her.

“Please don’t scream, please don’t scream!” he shouted, arms stretched out towards her. “You can’t let them hear you. You need to call the police!”

“Wh-what?” Alexis stuttered, backing away. “What… what is this?”

“Shut the door,” said the tattooed guy.

“What is going on?” Alexis’ voice got louder with panic. “What are you…?” She looked over the man on the bed. “Holy shit, what happened to your leg?”

“Please, please!” said Beard Guy. “Quickly, before they hear you!”

“Leave and shut the goddamned door,” said Tattoo Guy, louder now

The alcohol was still pickling Alexis’ brain, and she shut the door behind her as she stumbled forward.

“What are you doing?” Tattoo Guy said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, God,” said Beard Guy.

“You said shut the door,” said Alexis.

“LEAVE!” said Tattoo Guy, trying his damnedest not to yell at her. “Get upstairs and  _ call the goddamn police! _ ”

“She killed my phone!” Alexis cried.

“Use the landline!” Tattoo Guy hollered.

“STOP YELLING AT ME!” Alexis shrieked back at him.

“Miss, miss, please, just go upstairs and call the police, please!” pleaded the Bearded Guy. “You have to hurry! Go now! Quickly!”

Suddenly her limbs started to cooperate, and she was able to move with purpose. She went back out the door, shutting it behind her. She ran up the stairs, falling onto all fours and climbing up like an animal. She reached the top of the stairs, stood up, and just as she turned the corner into the kitchen, she thumped into someone, and a pair of hands grabbed her by her upper arms. She gasped, and looked up at Brandon, whose face was like that of a disappointed parent.

“I thought I told you I’d show you later,” he said.

Alexis screamed. He wrapped his arms around her, pinning them to her sides as he hunkered down on her. He pulled her in toward the kitchen as she screamed, trying to wriggle out from his grasp, but his grip on her tight, squeezing her with every bit of strength he had.

“SHANE!” Alexis screamed. “SH--!”

Brandon flung Alexis head-first into the kitchen countertop. She hit the corner of the granite marble just above her temple, and she flopped onto the floor on her side like a bag of wet sand. Brandon turned her over using his foot so that he could see her face, and he noticed a trickle of blood seeping out of her head. He nudged her, and her eyelids fluttered. Satisfied with this, he walked over to the glass door to check on Sybil, who was still at the pool with Shane.

Shane was trying to get out of the pool, but Sybil had launched herself onto his back, clinging to him like a squirrel monkey. Shane flipped her over his back and into the pool, and he clamored out. Brandon walked out through the glass door and stood at the top of the stairs, looking down upon Shane, as Shane stumbled onto the concrete around the pool and slapped a wet hand onto the railing leading to the patio. “What the fuck is going on, man?”

Brandon tilted his head. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“Whatever’s going on, it isn’t funny, man!” said Shane as he trembled. “Where’s Lexi?”

“Excuse me?” asked Brandon. He smiled and planted his tongue in his cheek. “I can’t hear you, man, the music’s too loud.”

“BULLSHIT, WHERE’S ALEXIS?” Shane shouted, his voice cracking slightly. “I HEARD HER!”

Brandon let out an eerie giggle, nearly doubling over. He straightened himself back up, and grinned. “Why are you freaking out, dude?”

“I heard her scream in there!” Shane pointed up to the glass door with a shaking arm.

“She’s fine!” said Brandon with a hearty laugh. “I just spooked her, is all!” Brandon descended the stairs, his arms outstretched. “What’s your problem, man?”

Shane staggered backwards a few paces, tipsy and confused. “What’s yours?” he asked, looking over Brandon as though bugs started to crawl out from under his skin, like a swarm of cockroaches picked up a Brandon suit to replace the guy he’d known for over half his life and now that skin suit was starting to slip. “You’re acting really fuckin’ weird.”

“How’s that?” Brandon asked. He stopped a few steps above Shane.

Shane was speechless. He just shook his head, his mouth agape, and he tried to walk up the stairs, but Brandon grabbed him by the shoulder, and held him back. Shane swung his arm and swatted Brandon’s hand off him, only for Brandon to grab Shane’s other shoulder with his other hand, this time gripping it harder.

“Hey,” said Brandon, now unnaturally calm. “I want to make you an offer.”

“What?”

“Look,” said Brandon, “I consider you a friend. You’ve come the closest to understanding me that most other people I’ve met. And I’m not an ungrateful man, Shane. I want to pay you back for it, but only if you really, really want it.”

Shane blinked. “What the fuck are you talking about? Where’s Lex--”

“Hold on, hold on,” said Brandon. He was now staring Shane down, holding him in place more with his eyes than his hand. “We’ll get to that. But I need to know that I can trust you. I am making you an offer to be in on some real gangster shit. Some absolute fucking mayhem. Shit that makes what we did look like  _ nothin’ _ .”

Behind them, Sybil climbed out of the pool, keeping her distance. There was an empty beer bottle that had rolled over under one of the chairs and had probably been there a few days. Silently, she crouched down, and grabbed a hold of it, lifting it off the ground so that the glass didn’t roll onto the concrete and make noise.

“Look, man, I don’t get into that kind of shit no more,” said Shane. “I mean, yeah, I party, I’ll smoke some weed, maybe pop some molly, but that’s it, man.”

“Do you remember,” Brandon said slowly, carefully, letting his words roll over his tongue like a silver ball in his mouth, “what we did with the deer?”

A look of horrified recognition crept over Shane’s face. “You said we wouldn’t talk about that again--”

“But you remember,” said Brandon.

“Yeah, but…” Shane licked his lips nervously. “that was just a deer, man, we were kids, I just doing some edgy shit while we were hunting…”

Brandon nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. If you say so… but I saw something in you, Shane. When you had that blood dripping out of your mouth and held that severed head in your hands in the air… I knew. I knew that I found somebody that  _ got _ me.”

Shane’s face twisted into a grimace. “What… what do you mean? What have you done to Lexi?”

“Nothing. Yet,” said Brandon. “But I’m giving you a choice. Nothing has to happen to you. Maybe even both of you, but she’s really,  _ really _ nosy. Quite frankly, I’m not sure if she knows how to keep her fucking mouth shut. How attached are you to her?”

“I… I love her, man,” Shane choked.

“Do you?” asked Brandon, getting uncomfortably close to Shane, “or do you just like the fact that she’s young and dumb enough to wanna be with a bum like you?”

Shane started sobbing, frozen in place.

“How old are you, dude? Almost 30?”

“I  _ am _ 30,” Shane whimpered.

“And how old is Alexis?”

Shane hesitated. “Eigh-eighteen…” he stammered.

“Really?” asked Brandon.

Shane’s face scrunched up and tears welled in his eyes, and he couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Fuck, she’s seventeen, man, but I haven’t done anything with her like that yet, man, I swear! We’re saving that until she turns legal. We agreed… we agreed on it…” He sobbed pitifully and put his head in his hands. “Please… please, leave her out of this… whatever you’re doing… please…”

Brandon sneered. “Look at you. Fuckin’ pathetic. And here I thought we could count on you.” He looked over Shane’s shoulder, and gave Sybil a nod.

“Wha--” Shane was cut off when Sybil swung the bottle in her hand into the side of his head, just behind his ear. Shane jerked forward and stumbled, clutching the spot where he was hit. Brandon swung a fist right into the center of Shane’s gut, and Shane wheezed out all the air in his lungs as he doubled over. Brandon got up close to Shane and kneed him in the groin, causing Shane to collapse onto the ground and puke the Citroc right back up in a clear spew, splattering onto the smooth concrete.

“Thought you’d put up more of a fight,” said Brandon, as Shane lay sprawled out on the ground, wheezing and sputtering. “Thought you wouldn’t be such a little bitch about it.” He raised his foot and stomped Shane’s jaw with a dull crack. Shane let out a sharp cry, and flailed at Brandon’s ankles, trying to grab a hold of them. Brandon skipped back, his feet moving like a school girl jumping rope.

“Get up!” shouted Brandon. “Get up and fight me, you little pussy-ass bitch!” He kicked Shane again, this time swinging right into the bridge of Shane’s nose. Shane screamed and rolled over, and overestimated the distance between himself and the pool, as his head hung over the edge, just above the water. Shane braced himself along the edge, his arms spread to either side to try and force himself to sit up. This, however, left him vulnerable.

Brandon brought the heel of his shoe down like a hammer into Shane’s chin, and cracked Shane’s neck back over the edge. Shane’s head lolled back, and his limbs went limp.

“Oh, what?” Brandon shouted. “You giving up, bitch?”

Shane didn’t move. He made a strange gurgling noise in the back of his throat.

“Oh, wow,” said Sybil looking down on Shane. “I think you really fucked him up good.”

Brandon nudged Shane with his foot. Shane just lay there, his eyes wide and terrified. They were the only part of him that moved.

“What do you wanna do with him now?” Sybil asked. “We could just drown him. I’ve never seen anybody drown before.”   
  
“Later,” said Brandon. “I wanna start working on the bitch first. She found your pets in the basement. She was gonna call the cops.”   
  
“I knew I didn’t like her,” said Sybil. “Nosy bitch.”   
  
“Yeah, well, I need to move her to the shed if we’re gonna get to work on her,” said Brandon.   
  
“What if,” said Sybil, looking up at Brandon like a child about to sweet-talk their parents into getting them candy, “what if… we did it to her in the tub?”

Brandon thought about it for a moment, and nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, we can do that. Get the shit from the shed. I’ll meet you in the bathroom.”

“Okay, sweetie,” said Sybil. She stepped over Shane, and leaned into Brandon, head craned forward expectantly. Brandon pushed her back, causing Sybil to pout. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Can’t even give me a kiss?”

“Later,” said Brandon. “Just get the shit, okay?”

Sybil shrunk back. “Fine,” she said. She watched as Brandon turned around and went back inside, and then turned around and looked back to Shane. He hadn’t moved. Sybil crouched over him, looking him in his glassy eyes and observing the pink foam bubbling up from his lips.

“I wonder how it must feel,” she mused aloud, “to look up at the last person you’ll ever see. Bet you never thought it’d turn out like this, with somebody like me.”

Shane’s eyes rolled to look at Sybil. He let out a shallow croak.

“Good bye, Shane,” she said. She hopped into the pool beside Shane, and grabbed ahold of him underneath his armpits. She dragged him backwards into the water. Once they were out in the center of the pool, Sybil let him go, and watched as he started to sink.

The only visible reaction from Shane to dipping under the surface was the panic animated his eyes, as they darted from side to side uselessly. They tried to focus on Sybil, who watched him with curiosity. She lifted her foot and pressed it squarely in the center of his chest, and held him down. A stream of frantic bubbles erupted from Shane’s mouth as he twitched and writhed, and Sybil watched until the bubbles stopped. She lifted her foot again, and watched as Shane slowly rose back to the surface again, and bobbed in the water, completely still. Satisfied with her work, she climbed out of the pool, toweled off, and went back to the shed, and came back out holding a buzzsaw, a length of rope, and a fistful of rubber tubes. She shut the shed door with one foot kicked back behind her, and crossed the yard and went around the pool, casting one last glance at the dead man in the pool, before she went back inside.

There was much more work to be done.


End file.
